Mass Effect: The Moonshine Café
by Aeternix
Summary: "Everyone has a reason for being here," says the bartender. "The real challenge is finding out what that is." On Illium there is a home for every species, where all can grab a drink and find solace. Yet pasts have a tendency to catch up on you. Numerous short stories and drabbles in multiple genres from all eras of the bar's existence. OC and canon characters included in the tales.
1. The Sign Above the Door

**A/N: Hey everyone! I had an idea for a short story collection, something that I could send an idea in for once and a while without the pressure of continuing a "larger narrative". At the same time however, I wanted to try something new and I decided to center all these stories and drabbles around one location, a bar. So "The Moonshine Café" was born. This is the first story out of a ton I have planned. A schedule is on my profile for the upcoming weeks, there I will detail what story will be updated what week.**

**I do not own any of the ideas, concepts, locations, story elements, ect. Though the plot, ideas, and characters may be mine I forfeit them to BioWare. It is their universe and I treat these characters as only extensions of such.**

**Enjoy the first story, it's a nice one to start this collection off with.**

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**The Sign Above the Door**

_15th of September, Galactic Date: 2183_

There is a saxophone singing its song somewhere. Its pitch is low, its tone mellow. Rain patters down across the streets. I am alone. With only the sax singing its lonesome tune.

The dark nights of Illium are often the worst. It's cold in the nether regions of this mega city. Low lights, low traffic, low life. I consider myself none of these, yet again maybe that's why everyone considers me all of them. Maybe it's because people feel so small down here under the gasping skylines above. "We are as small as ants," is what humans like to say. I'm an asari, so I really don't know what an 'ant' is. But whatever an ant is, I'm definitely it.

It's cold and I bring my jacket tight against my body. Frigid temperatures rarely are much trouble for asari; I guess that can be explained by my mother being a drell. In the end, whether my other mother was asari or not, I'm cold blooded through and through. I'm soaked by now, straight to the bone as another human idiom goes. I have neither hat nor a hood for my head. The soft pattering of rain smacks against my cranium and runs deep grooves down my face; water that turns to rivers of cleansing. Humans say that when a person is ready to confess their sins it will rain frogs, at the same time people say raining frogs represents that something abnormal is about to happen. Whatever the meaning of the phrase is, it makes no sense. How could the sky rain frogs? The thought is bizarre, especially to a half-drell.

So here I am, in my 'natural habitat' as a lowlife asshole might call me if they found out my lineage. I'm on the side of the road and it's raining cats and dogs, not literally, just another idiom. There are lamp posts I swear came from a photo album of a lovely couple who claimed they were dressing up like the 1920's. Tacky, tacky, tacky. Still, lovely smile; they seemed happy.

It's colder than I thought and I decide to rub my hands against my upper arms. No effect. Well of course not, there is not logical reason for heat to be generated! No blood cells ever start to pass through quicker by rubbing the skin furiously. Still, I rub my appendages again, just to be safe.

The man by the sax is in a black leather jacket. He is under a ledge pouring water down in front of him like a waterfall. It is thick yet you can see through it, almost like frosted glass. Everything is so lucid. I can experience everything. The feel of water pounding on my arms, the smell of gas hanging in the air, and the taste of musk fresh off the street from the rain. Everything is so tired and worn, yet all new to me. This district of the city had not seen some crowds in a few years.

All this jazz and rain tugged at my heart and threw the heat from my body. With quick steps I crossed the road, no cars so I did not have to check. I huddle under the balcony with Mr. Saxophone. The soft sound coming from the instrument makes me dizzy, relaxed, and talkative. Warmth and comfort was what I needed then, not some old geezer who blew a horn and made me feel 'fuzzies'. Light breaks through the glass behind me, shining its luminous qualities on my hardened soul. They say blues and a hot coffee is the cure for a cold heart. They say a lot of things, don't they?

But eventually I enter the old cafe. The sign above the balcony simply reading: Moonshine Cafe. Moonshine, what a ridiculous name, someone ought to change it. The carpet is velvet and the seats are plush. The whole atmosphere is dense with character, just how I like it. Stories upon stories wrapped up in a clean and crystal shell. In the end aren't we all just stories?

I sniff my clouded nose and find a slight waft of cigarette. Damn, what I would give for a fag. They say that nicotine patches are the way to go nowadays. No harmful effects to the lungs or to the heart, just higher blood pressure due to some of the chemicals in the pouch. "But really," they reason, "who doesn't have high blood pressure nowadays?"

I counter with my own reasoning: There is nothing like holding a cigarette between two fingers. The slow burn of the fire and the embers that light and fade downward when you tap the end slowly. Goddess, thinking of it just makes me want one now. Damn humans and their enticing drugs.

I shudder once more; the heat from the cafe dries my head, but not my clothes. I am soaking wet, a wet dog, like a drowned rat, like... like... dammit! I stomp my foot on the floor and alert the bartender cleaning some glasses, 'cause what else do they do with their lives?

He signals me over.

I turn away.

His voice is the next sound in the room besides the pouring rain outside and my own breathing.

I deny it.

He insists.

I give in 'cause I'm cold, weak, and tired. They say asari are easy prey for sexual predators. That's not true. We are only easy for those who have a warm fire and some hot drinks. From his hands flash a mug and he taps the side with his other hand expectantly. I nod. "Yes please," is my answer with words. Though by the time I had said it he was already to the coffee maker and I knew my action had done the job. So I sit there and rub my arms some more.

He comes back with a steaming cup of coffee. It is black and thick like molasses. I look to him expectantly and he nods. A cup of milk and sugar is brought to me. I take the milk, not the sugar. Don't want my blood pressure too high.

I sit there with him cleaning glasses before me. The rain pattering outside. The old man with the saxophone. Everything is quiet, peaceful, serene. He is the first to make conversation and I am glad till I hear the words, "So, what are you here for?"

I look to him curiously. Is this human crazy? His hair is brown, almost the colour of my coffee, maybe a bit lighter. The hair itself is not too long, yet not too short. It is that awkward in between phase where you can't politely complement him, but can't disregard him for a hooligan you find in the streets. Hooligan, more beautiful human diction! "Why, you ask?" I reply monotone. Softly I blow on the coffee and take a tantalizing sip. It is a bit hot and yet I savor the burning sensation in my mouth. It beats the cold aching of my bones. My gaze returns from the coffee to his face. He is smiling.

"Everyone has a reason for being here," he says with a thick American accent. I've met enough humans to know what country on Earth each came from. "The real challenge," he begins again with a grin as he picks up another glass to be washed, "is finding out what that is."

My head tilts and he laughs slightly. It has a joyous ring to it, not similar to the brooding dark laughs of the humans I passed in the streets outside. The sound is... inviting; dare I say, real. There are no strings attached (again, to use another human idiom), no bells or whistles to distract you from himself. It is simple and blunt, happy and peaceful. He was generally amused.

My prolonged silence seems to jar him and he quickly hastened to make an apology. I, at the same time, said it was all fine and we ended up talking over one another. The end result? We both burst into laughter.

The door creaked open and Mr. Saxophone walked in. He shook himself and his instrument from water, though I really did not know how he was so drenched from being under cover. The bartender looked to him and grinned boyishly. "Oh, Hank, the playin' has been getting better? How are the tips?"

Mr. Saxophone blows his nose into a handkerchief that is surprisingly dry, counter to his soaked exterior. "Oh," he starts with a rough voice, "same as always. I could ask you the same thing Tim!" He blows his horn once more into the handkerchief. I cannot help but wonder how much of a pain his pure white beard must be. Being an asari does have some advantages after all.

From the bartender named Tim, to Mr. Saxophone who is apparently named Hank, I am lost. I feel distanced from the conversation and the world. I am not surprised in the slightest as I slowly sip my drink. It is warm and bitter.

I hear Tim's voice. "You can set up your instrument Hank, I have no doubt it'll sound marvelous."

"No, I couldn't bother you with—"

"No bother, my friend." The tone is sincere and from that tone replied the mellow sound of the sax. Its smooth and crisp notes all harmonized and placed together in a line. Each note is accented and drawn out, prolonging its sad – no... battered song. I use that word for the song seems used and worn. Heh, aren't we all?

I look up from my steaming drink to meet the eyes of the young Tim. No beard or facial hair of any kind on his face. But long dark streaks of brown on his exposed forearms. His white shirt accents his tanned skin perfectly, yet his eyes are bright green, bizarre and strange. "You know something?" I ask after a silence.

"What is that?"

"I know your name and you still don't know mine."

A grin widens. "I bet you're pretty proud of that."

"For a man as popular as yourself? You bet I am." He chuckles lightly and presses a wine glass down a few feet from my face. Another glass is picked up and is dried lightly. Those hands, so big yet so gentle with the glassware. A strange man this human is.

A few more glasses are dried and then placed on a tray. The bartender takes them and places them underneath a shelf a few inches from the wine. The human then gets up and lets his fingers drift around the booze. He shakes his head and gets himself a mug, obviously decided on the drink I so frivolously looked into. He returns with coffee black as mud and drinks it wordlessly. I cannot fathom how someone could drink black coffee, so bland and tasteless. Bitter, oh goddess how bitter it would be! I sort of envied him; he must have had iron taste buds.

"So?" he asks finally after a long sip. The cold prick of the rain has not left my body.

"So?" I reply sarcastically, taking my own sip.

A smile. "Your name." He pauses with a free finger from his right hand pressing against his lower lip as he looks to the ceiling. His left holds the cup in front of himself. "I think you were about to tell me your name."

Oh, that thing. "Sarnia T'Hypola," I remark softly. My names seem foreign, even to me. Maybe that's because I've been around human culture for so long. I'm sick of all of it. I take another douse of my coffee, it is nearly finished. My bartender notices this.

"And your story?" I feel like I'm in therapy.

"Why the hell would you care?" I ask bitterly. My hands wrap around the coffee tightly, gripping it like a lifeline. "I am nothing to someone like you; you don't care about my life or even that saxophonist's life. You humans are all the same: egotistical and stuck up your ass." I look into the coffee and see my dim reflection; I feel as used and dirty as this cup. My face grimaces as I press my teeth tightly together.

His eyes soften as he places his own cup on the table near mine. His human hands inch towards my blue. Once close enough his hands touch mine, softly grasping them with comfort and warmth. "Who hurt you Sarnia?" This question is kinder than the rest; I feel like I'm witnessing something no one has seen before. The sax in the background picks a new song, something that should be played beside a roaring fireplace in my opinion.

I take my hands from his and rub them together. I am shy, as is my nature, and do not want to feel emotion. "Got dumped this morning. Some human ass had another girl he was seeing. Saw them on the bed together." His eyes are soft, luminous orbs and his hands go out to mine again. This time I do not pull back. "You can understand my trepidation with human males right now."

The bartender, no, Tim looks at me and shrugs. "Human males are not better or worse than any other male. I guess in your culture you are graced, or maybe even cursed, with not having male dominant figures." How dare he? This comment is too much but my hands do not move. Part of me wants to storm out, yet another wants to hear his side of the story. I internally growl, even now I cannot escape the human idioms that plague the galaxy's language. "What I mean to say," he reflects, this time choosing his wording more carefully, "is that everyone is different. You may not have experienced the pains of people taking advantage of you." He looks down into his own coffee, this man who has more secrets that the wealthiest stripper. "That's why you're here I guess; this is a safe place. You should feel no worry here."

His words should make me run off, fly away. Yet it keeps me firm. I look to him and give a soft smile. Oh, how I have fallen for another human's charms! But what am I with love? A failure. I give myself over completely: learn all the idioms and tricks of the language to better communicate. Cook and clean, smile and joke. All for what? Seeing someone else in my bed?

We stay there for a few minutes, but they feel like seconds. I have unloaded my baggage like the clouds unload the rain. Illium, the city in darkness, the bright lights that shine on forever. His hands retract from mine finally and I find that I miss them slightly. He goes to his coffee and sips slowly, looking like he is savoring his drink. I do the same to mine and we enter a prolonged silence, neither person willing to speak.

Soon the cup is finished and I lay it on the table. I wipe my lip with the back of my hand and though it is considered 'unladylike' in human culture, I do it anyway. No longer do I feel chained. My coat is dried now and the embers of the song dwindle as I nod my head towards Mr. Saxophone and the bartender. I slowly exit my seat and start towards the door, the voice of Tim turns me around though.

"Hey you!" he shouts, I turn and give him a soft smile.

"Hey you," I reply.

"It can get lonely some nights when there is no one around. You live near here?" I nod, not sure where Tim is taking the thought. "If you ever feel like having some company then why don't you hop on over? I'd be glad to talk to you some more." Though the words could be interpreted as trying to get more customers, I feel the warmth that emanates from the tone and realize the sincerity behind it.

I look from him to the rain outside. The sax in the background, to night swiftly leaving the city of lights. I grin as I look back to his face. "I'd be glad to return." He nods his head with a grin and I do the same with mine. The door opens and I brace my coat against the wind and rain, the saxophone's song now only coal. One breath in and I am thrust outside into water that cools my scolding body.

It is raining frogs.


	2. White Cats and Grey Hounds

**A/N: This is a story about one of Kasumi's heists of Illium. I'm really proud of the style and what happens in this story and I hope you guys appreciate it as well. Reviewing is appreciated though not mandatory; I always like to hear some feedback in how to improve in my story. A big shout out goes to the Mass Effect Wiki's Timeline, I've been using this website a lot (mostly since chronology is important for these stories) and I'm glad someone has gone through this series and done the deed I cannot fathom in completing for the fans. All references in the text were either from there or the game.**

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**White Cats and Grey Hounds**

_18th of February, Galactic Date: 2185_

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[ENGAGE MEMORY ARCHIEVE PROGRAM ALPHA-04]

[PROGRAM ENCODED]

[RUNNING SUB ROUTINES]

[SCANNING PERSONNAL]

[PERSONNAL DETECTED: WELCOME KEIJI OKUDA]

[MEMORY AND AUDIO FILE LOCATED]

[CREATED ON 23rd OF MARCH, GALACTIC DATE: 2184 BY KASUMI GOTO]

[PROGRAM INITIATED]

Only the richest of the rich are my targets. The 'big cats' as they like to call them in the underground syndicates on Illium. Personally I could think of a name that better suits them, though I will admit some may consider it quite rude. Then again, naming isn't my specialty. Stealing is, or 'borrowing' as the best thieves in the business like to call it. I am one of them. But sometimes the big guys go quiet and there's nothing to steal, no one needs a job done, or it's too risky to get expensive items. Only the top thieves know when to back out of a job; this separates the masters from the amateurs. In these times the little kittens have to appease the impressive thief that I am.

The apartment was small, spacious, and modest. It was a simple tactic used by the families of Illium long ago to sway the criminals from their hidden cashes. Live a modest life by day, party by night. Better words could not describe Illium. I had only been here a few times in my life, never liked the false sense of bravado that this city held. It was always bright with neon lights, and no thief likes that not to mention it hurts the eyes. Though a young female friend of mine said she would give anything to stay on Illium; she was born there and to her it was home. I saved her from slavers and in return she gave me a story and a painting.

But back to the apartment on Illium. There I was, typing away on someone else's computer. I was cocky and I know that using their computer wouldn't get me caught. Passwords are easy with Keiji around and it's sometimes fascinating to see what your customers are into. Blue light filtered over my shadowed head. My hood was off and when I shook my head I could feel the fibers of my hair string across my cheek. It's rare that I have my hair down and I savour these moments. Sounds of rustling came from behind me and when the noises became louder I knew Keiji had found something good. So had I, as a matter of fact, which was why I did not ask him about his prize.

The heavy sound of his boots hitting the hardwood floor alerted me to his presence. His hand was on my shoulder in an instant and I grabbed it for comfort. "You really should get better shoes. Don't want to make a ruckus everywhere you walk. "

A scoff. "I'm allowed; I've got the best thief in the business with me right now."

I turned around to see the smirk on his face. Typical cocky Keiji. "Flattery gets you nowhere my dear," I said sarcastically. To that his face drew close, asking for a kiss but I turned away before his lips could touch mine. He scoffed again.

"Playing hard to get?"

I giggled. "No, just found something interesting."

"So did I." I knew he had, but I played with his ignorance. Even in this dark space I could make out the outline of the object he held.

I twirled around in the chair to face him, placing my left leg over my right. "You tell me and I'll tell you."

He moved around beside me so that the light from the computer could shine over what he held. It was a small turian statue, possibly pre-hierarchy and showed signs of wear. I whistled. Though I will admit that I knew it was a turian statue in origin and shape, I did not expect the details about it. "Amazing, right?" I nodded. Keiji twirled it in his hands, a big goofy grin on his face. "This should belong in a museum; it's simply amazing that someone has this in their house." Shaking his head he placed the stone statue at his feet and leaned closer to me, staring at the screen.

"As long as you have what your employer wanted," I reply with a grin. Sometimes I like poking fun at Keiji, he always has the greatest reactions to my sarcastic quips.

He sighed at my comment and drew closer, obviously trying to backfire my sarcastic phrases. "I know you're very impressed with my statue, so what do you have that's so cool?"

I turned to the screen and, realizing his face was too close, pushed him away with one finger to his lips. He laughed and raised his hands in defence, claiming he 'couldn't help himself'. Riiiiiight Keiji, sure you couldn't help yourself, just like that statue at your feet eh? "Been searching the web, you know me." I went through a few searches and got rid of some extra sites I had brought up. Most of them were just references or stuff I had seen in the owner's history that I thought was interesting. At last I scanned through a page and showed Keiji what he had desired.

After looking at the page he turned to me, nodding. "Wow Kasumi, you found a picture of a famous piece of lost art. I'm really impressed—"

"Oh shut up Keiji and just read the rest," I replied shaking my head in exasperation.

He grined at my disapproving glare and looked through the text underneath, scanning the article and giving a whistle after reading through it. "So this has been lost for a few hundred years."

"Yes, apparently it just turned up out of the blue a few weeks ago. Art critics and museums are willing to pay a fortune and a half for this." Keiji stood up straight and picked up his statue. He shrugged and started to walk off towards our bags in the bedroom. We had come through that window, after all, and it had seemed like the perfect place to make our exit. It was also a great place for a stress relief. The bed was comfy.

I waited for his approval but I heard nothing. He darted in and out of the room, taking with him credits and items we felt like stealing. At last I stood up and grabbed his arm, stopping him. The lights of hover cars flicker through the blinds causing shadows to cascade over us. Quite romantic, actually. Thieving is, after all, a very romanticized business. "So, what do you think?" I asked.

My partner sighed and looked at the computer again. His gaze returned to me after a moment. "Kasumi," he started softly, "don't tell me you're getting interested in art now? Our safe house is already full of the damn stuff!" I slapped his face, lightly I might add, and he mocked the hurt well. "Okay, okay jeez. Seriously though, why do you care about this?" A smile weaved its way onto my face and Keiji looked at me with a peculiar expression. "I know that look well," he said slowly, watching my every move.

I placed my arms around his neck and brought my face close to his. "I have a question for you Keiji."

All this was confusing for him, but he did not mind my alluring nature. "That is?" he asked coyly.

"Are you feeling hungry at all? I know a good café around here that is looking for something interesting to happen."

He returned my sly smirk. "You know, I see something interesting before me right now."

I stuck out my tongue and faux-gagged. "Keiji, you really aren't that good with romantic dialogue."

He shrugged with a slight sense of mock hurt. "You're not that good at keeping me in the light about all your master plans." He drew me in and I hugged him tightly as well. A smirk arose. "You're not going to tackle me down like that one time with the painting, are you?"

"Maybe, maybe not. I bet you would like that."

He started his sing song laugh. "Yes I would, yes I would."

"Aren't we a pair?" I replied as we shared a kiss.

The last time I had come here, the place was empty. It was, oh, about two years ago. I swear to you that no one had been there. It was a dead place: a pin could drop and you would hear it. Now it was full of busy patrons, drinks being passed around and evidence of people laughing, smiling, and enjoying themselves everywhere. In places like this it can be extremely dangerous when tackling a thieving job. At the same time it makes it all the more fun when there are this many witnesses who can also be suspects.

On the way there Keiji and I stopped at our safe house in Illium to change. There I told him the plan. After doing some digging through Cerberus and Alliance files, the access codes I had graciously... borrowed from a drunken Alliance captain (lovely fellow, but that's another story), I found out that the owner of the piece was a man named Julian Felix. He was a short, stout human who spent his time wandering on desert planets doing who knows what. Friends with a man by the name of Donovan Hock, who were both respectable gentlemen that dealt with the criminal underworld. "Yes, apparently both of them are deep into all this mayhem. Both are patrons of June Fasha—"

"Who?" Keiji asked while eating a pear when I was telling him my idea.

"Artist. She apparently did that painting named 'Connected' a while back."

"The one that was all over the Cerberus Network?"

I clicked my tongue on the roof of my mouth and made a gun shape with my finger. "Exactly. Both of them are friends with her and are using that guise to make them seem like they aren't doing anything illegal. Donovan's a weapons dealer and our good friend Julian is a famous forger, got into jail a few times for forging credits and trying to make his mint."

"So what you're saying is that Julian forged the painting?"

"Shhh Keiji let me explain." I told him how Julian had used Donovan's contacts and June's artistic skill and integrity to create the false painting. It was my guess, of course, and I did not anticipate the facts that the contacts gave me were false. To me this was a simple forgery that Julian had probably assumed would take him to retirement. Well, he had counted on a lot of things but he didn't anticipate one. Me. I finished my plan with the idea of nabbing the painting for ourselves. Plenty of black market buyers would love a priceless work of art; they would never know the difference between the fake and the real thing. It was fool-proof. After all, Julian and his cohort could not say the painting was a fake after proclaiming it was real. That would be suicide and would obviously alert the authorities to their con.

"So," started Keiji slowly after finishing his pear and throwing the core away, "you plan to disguise yourself as a potential buyer?" I was behind a large oriental sheet changing my clothes. Keiji had wanted to come behind and sneak a peak, but I slapped his hand away and promised him that 'good things come to those who wait'. Now he was sitting cross legged, staring at my shadow changing behind the sheet. "Seriously, how do you think you'll get him to think you're legit?"

His voice trailed off as I had approached him, silencing the sentence he was about to go into. I was wearing a long white dress with a cut down the left side. There was a light pattern that ran up the silk, it curved and twirled reaching my bosom with its lace. There my slight, but still voluptuous, cleavage was present. A fur overcoat was draped over my shoulders, hiding some of the cleavage that the dress displayed. My arms were bare except for satin gloves than ran to my elbows. The hair was easy: a simple bun done up by an emerald pin I had found in the jewelry box of a human heiress. Crimson lipstick was the icing on the cake, icing I knew would sway many men's eyes toward me from the look Keiji had on.

"Well?" I remember asking, twirling dramatically for effect. The whole dress was stuffy and tight. I hated putting on disguises; they always made me look silly. I preferred the cloth outfit I so often wore on my thieving jobs: comfortable and stylish. But a job's a job and there was nothing I could do about it. Still, for a moment I felt like a medieval lady in one of my books and, if you can forgive me for being a bit girly, I enjoyed being 'beautiful' in societies standards.

"Sorry Kasumi, I can't let you wear that," Keiji said after a moment of observation. I put my hands to my waist and pouted exaggeratedly. He shrugged in reply. "Sorry, but I'd just get too damn jealous. I don't want people looking at you with lingering eyes."

I smirked warily. "Tough."

So here I was now. The lighting was brighter and more atmospheric than before. Maybe that was because I had been in the rafters last time I had come here. Now I was no longer a thief; I was a patron. And just the idea of walking into a bar with everyone's eyes on me was terrifying. I was not used to being the center of attention. My persona was Yvonne Von Delaware or 'The White Cat of Illium' for those in the criminal underworld. Keiji thought I was being a bit dramatic but I reminded him of my past calling card and he agreed this disguise could have been worse in those aspects.

Standing on the crimson carpet, a small inlet of chairs and tables in a section to my left, reachable by stairs, was full and the circular table where drinks were given was also fully occupied. I saw swirling stairs reaching to a second level and it did not look bad, but I realized leaving quickly could pose a problem. Not that I'd want to anyway in this dress, it was just a precaution. I've been in situations where running was my only option and I can promise you that jumping from a second story is not as easy as it looks in the holo-vids they play.

I spied a comfy little spot in the middle of a crowd, nice and easy to lose faces in that grouping. When dealing with the plan I had concocted, the more possible listeners the better. So I walked over, keeping in mind to sway my hips back and forth, drawing the eyes of everyone around me. I hated it. I was used to hiding in the sewers or on cargo ships, hiding in crevices the size of a varren. I was not used to being the center of attention. Some scoffed at my look with disapproving expressions and it hurt. The rats in the sewers never judge your appearance; you're as dirty as they are down there.

Eventually I came to the table, hoping the place hadn't changed as much as it had seemed to in terms of self service, and I sat down. A young asari drew near with a pad of paper and a pen. Classy. Now-a-days most restaurants just used electronic menus that delivered your order directly to the kitchen. Then again, I doubted this bar has one of those despite the word 'cafe' in its name. It's such a weird way to name a bar.

"What do you want, Miss..." She was looking for a name and I give it to her. She smiled softly as a response. I liked her, not superficial like most people who were there. "So Miss Delaware, what do you want?" This bothered me, I really did not want anything but I knew my persona would wish something expensive and Latin, or maybe French. I asked for the most hard to pronounce drink on the menu. This made the asari laugh a bit; I liked her all the more.

"That's all I need thanks," I said after my order was placed.

It seemed she was not done as she asked me another question. "Waiting for someone? This is a seat for two, you know." I looked at her and smiled as bitchy as I could. The this-is-not-your-business-so-why-don't-you-leave-m e-alone look, but I could not even fake it. My face just squinted together and I ended up looking silly. She laughed again. Now I am certain she was a girl after my own heart.

"Yes I am expecting someone. They will order when they arrive." She started to leave but I stopped her with my voice. "Before you go," I said as 'elegantly' as I could, "may I know what your name is? You already know mine."

She nodded her head and responded, "Sarnia T'Hypola, miss." I nodded in reply and she walked away again. I was left alone waiting for my drink that I could hardly pronounce, waiting for that Julian fellow who would send me into a quick retirement. Often I preferred being told what to do. Mob bosses or some shadowy organization asking for a priceless object is much more interesting work for me. Doing jobs for personal gain was Keiji's field, not mine. Still, it would be nice to get some spare credits to fix up some of our safe houses.

Where was he? My drink had already arrived and I can guarantee it was better than I thought it would be. I paid the price and the tip, saying how she should come back when my companion arrived, alcohol of course. The plan was simple. Get the poor man drunk off his rocker so that when I probed him for the whereabouts of the painting, Keiji could steal it and we could make off with it together. I was in constant contact with Keiji through my hardly visible earpiece. Everything I said or heard he could hear as well. It was simple technology that had helped us before. I was certain that the paintings were in his private suite here on Illium. Keiji was probably hiding in the shadows there right now, wondering where the paintings were located.

Finally Julian approached. He was in a suit, dark and drab staring out into the crowd. I did not want to make myself too known to the people around me, there is such a thing as being too obvious in a crowd. My hand raised and waved him over with a flick of the wrist. He nodded and drew closer to me, his hands deep in his pockets. Taking the seat in front of me, he looked into the cup that I had recently finished and moved over. Disgust was plastered on his face. Gee, thanks Mr. Important.

My young asari friend came over again and asked for drinks. I naturally told him the chardonnay was divine but he opted for a cool glass of traditional turian brandy. Sarnia nodded and left us alone, each staring into the opposing person's eyes.

"So," he began softly straightening his tie, "you are indeed White Cat?"

I grinned. "You are the illustrious Black Rat?" I hated these nicknames and it bothered me how pretentious those underworld folk could get. Yet Julian smiled broadly at my comment and I instantly knew I was on his good side.

"Cheeky, aren't we?" he replied. The asari waitress returned with the order and the 'Black Rat' took the drink and threw her the credits. The chips smash on the ground and the poor female, albeit furious, picked up the money and returned to her duties elsewhere in the bar. Before she left, however, I order a glass of wine and she seemed glad at that. So did Julian in fact.

He spoke again. "I trust that you know the price range of the object you desire. It is... not the most well known painting out there."

"Rarity is my specialty," I remarked, taking a sip from the white wine before me that I previously ordered. It was chilled and relaxed, just how I liked it.

"Indeed it is, White Cat. I must say you are rare to the field, aren't you?" I nearly spit out my drink. A few minutes in and already he was insulting me? Fan-fricken-tastic. He was almost finished his drink and waved over the waitress, asking for another one. It was not 'asking', merely telling her what he wanted. These people make me sick sometimes. "So, how much information do you know?"

I had this all planned so this answer of mine came naturally. "I know that the work of art is priceless, lost almost a century ago by a religious asari painter by the name of Yerna T'Honia. It is rumoured that you can still smell her blood on the canvas that she mixed with the paint to give it its vibrant colour."

He chuckled which was a good thing; I was loosening him up. "You have been listening to much lies, Miss Cat. The blood on the painting was not hers, but her adulterous mate." This seemed to please the man before me that he knew something I did not. Maybe that's why his codename was the Black Rat. Maybe his name should have been 'Weasel' instead.

We continued into some small talk, chatting about criminal systems and the people inside of them. I merely gave my solid opinion as a thief, not really as a bureaucratic mastermind. This voice that I had not intended coming out in my speech surprised him and he told me how I would like a friend of his, the Grey Hound. Who was Grey Hound? Donovan Hocks? In the end I did not care all that much. I doubted I would ever care about those types of people.

On his sixth drink I decided to start with the plan. I could only hope Keiji was in position and his silence meant that he was hiding. "So, I suspect we should talk about prices now?" My fourth drink arrived and I was glad that I had built up a casual immunity to the effects of alcohol. I was also glad that Julian was paying for all the drinks. He was a really nice guy if you could get him drunk.

The asari was about to drop my glass off but Julian took it for her; she had a plate of glassware in her other hand and he said he didn't want it to drop. I closed my eyes. I could tell that he was wobbly and drunk out of his mind; I doubted he even knew what he was saying. "Where were we, my dear?" He asked after a hiccup. My eyes opened again, maybe I didn't like him all that much drunk.

"I was talking about prices," I reaffirmed.

"Ahhhh, yesss." His speech had slurred as another huge gulp of ale went into his system. God, how much of that stuff can he take before he drops? I don't want him to be knocked out before I find out the location of the painting.

"Before we get to that though," I said, swirling my drink in my glass. "I was wondering how safe the painting is."

His eyebrow rose. "What do you mean?" His guard was up and this was what I had feared.

"I don't want my 'famous' painting stolen, or even worse, damaged by some lug who was carrying it from your safe location. I mean, this is apparently the genuine article and I can only hope you treat it well." I heard Keiji's voice in my ear; he was getting worried and asked me to hurry up.

I could only hope I did not arouse suspicions and that Julian is too drunk to care. "Ohhhh my dear. The painting is in good hands." He hiccoughed once more. I was getting agitated. "I have it in the safe in my bedroom suite here on Illium. Guards positioned at every door. No person could ever get into the area and the pass code is padlocked. If you worry about damage, fear not. I got them cheap from my friend the Grey Hound." Okay, that codename probably went along with Hock, but I was too preoccupied to care.

I heard Keiji's voice. "_Got it._"

I nodded and give a small smile. "Well I'm glad that it is in good hands, Black Rat. I am paying good money for this painting. My husband is expecting it to be displayed in the bedroom."

"_You bet I am_," rings in Keiji and I stifled a giggle.

"Now," I started again after a moment of silence had passed. "How much do you propose—"

"_Ah... Kasumi..._" I was confused at the sound of Keiji's voice but I started to continue on with the conversation again, his voice stopping me once more. I pretended I was choking to hide my silence. "_Kasumi we have a problem. There are two paintings_." Well, we did know he was a forger. "_What do I do now?_"

My mind is awhirl. What do we do now? I had not anticipated this to happen and never once did I think... why the hell did he have more than one painting? If someone stole it? Maybe, but then again he sounded cocky; he would never be that paranoid. Was he planning something bigger? Selling the fake one to the art museum, then the other to the black market. Was one even real? Were they both fake? Worry creased my brow; if there were two this would prove a problem in selling them.

"Problem Miss Cat?" he said coyly. I realized I had stopped coughing and cleared my throat. Think Kasumi, use your head!

"Before we talk about prices once again, I just thought of something." I looked him in the eye. "I understand we are people who value sincerity and honestly quite highly in our business." He smiled at that, good. "Since we deal with so much corruption and waste I find it hard to believe that there won't be any forgeries of this painting. I only want the best of the best you see and if I knew mine was a fake—"

"Are you accusing-?" he started and I had to interrupt to protect my cover.

"Not at all my friend, I am merely wondering. Are there any disguising features on the painting that would give me an indication—"

"If you are going to betray my trust like this," Julian interrupted again, this time more forcefully, "then I may have to take my business elsewhere."

"_I'm going to destroy one and take the other Kasumi;_ _we are running out of time._" What? How would Keiji know which one was legit, if any were at all? Was this plan all a waste? Did Julian have more copies? Did his friends in the underworld have some already? My mind was spinning endlessly but I remained calm and took more sips from my glass, draining its contents.

"You're right Black Rat, I am sorry for the mistrust. The world is so hard to see through now-a-days. Friends are often hard to come by, but I am glad you are one of them." This caused Julian to smile and be at ease; all the while in the background I could hear the burning and destruction of paper. I could only hope Keiji knew what he was doing.

We finalized the documents and the price tag. I told him the credits would be sent through my account to his in three days. He wanted one day and then we agreed on two days. The transaction was complete and all that was left was the final bill. I was getting out my credit chit when Julian placed his hand on mine from across the table. "You go on ahead; I bet your husband will be excited about the painting being sold." I nodded and gave one last smile to my asari friend. She had no idea who I was or what I had just done, but ignorance was bliss to me. I curtsied at Julian and left the bar the way in which I had come in. This time I did not try to attract much attention.

I left in a hurry. Not so fast as to arouse suspicion but fast enough so that I could reach Keiji. We agreed to meet in an alleyway and set off to the safe house from there. I felt full and nauseous from all the drinks and I had to stop and lean on the wall a few times. Maybe I'm not as strong as I thought.

A left, a right, a left, and a straight walk led me into a back alleyway where Keiji awaited me. I ran up to him to the best of my ability, heels are never a girl's best friend, and he picked me up and spun me around, a kiss sealing the deal. "You got the goods?" I asked with a grin.

He nodded and kissed me again. "You didn't expect anything else from your 'husband' eh?" I look at him disapprovingly and he laughed again, we kissed a third time.

"Where is it now?" I asked, desperately wanting to see the painting that has caused all this fuss.

A coy smile fell across his face. "I left it in an air vent a few stories up on a building, just in case you were followed. Seems my agitation was for nothing."

"Is it nice? I mean, I wouldn't want to go through all this trouble for some modern art."

Keiji put a finger to his lip in thought. He look to the sky and thought with a humorous look on his face. "Well," he said after a moment, "I doubt an asari actually spilt any blood on the thing but it still looks quite unique and religious." The religious aspect did not interest me, but the uniqueness enticed me.

"Interesting, though I did wish to see a tiny bit of blood on it—"

"I can handle that." I spun around in Keiji's arms to find Julian, the Black Rat before us, wobbling with a pistol in his hand. "I knew you couldn't be trusted White Cat, or should I even call you that you traitorous bitch?"

Keiji growled. "You leave her alone or—"

"Or what?" Julian grinned wickedly and I instantly missed his humorous drunken laughter. "You're her husband then?" Keiji did not respond. "I bet you are. Well before you stick anything into her I must warn you that she does have a few tracers in her digestive track." I looked to my stomach and a searing pain ran through me. "That must be them burning up in her stomach acid right now. Don't worry though, sadly it won't kill her, just cause her some discomfort." I scream and go to my knees, never having felt so much pain before. My stomach felt like it had been set on fire, I wanted to vomit but nothing came up. I gagged and spat yet I couldn't throw up. This seemed to please Julian just fine. What a miserable rat.

"How did you do this to her?" screamed Keiji angrily, standing with fists clenched.

"Your lady friend should be more careful about who goes near her drinks. I slipped them in while getting them from the pretty asari waitress. Poor ignorant thing, even she did not see the slip. I congratulate you for your ploy, miss. It was well researched. Yet I can hold more liquor than you think." He staggered a bit but his gun was still pointed at me. So much for holding his liquor, this guy's delusional.

"I swear to god if you hurt her—"

"What? You'll kill me? I don't even see a gun and even if you have one you can't kill me before I fire." The grin widened on his face, what a sick human. "I applaud you but the game is up now. I heard where my painting is, I sure hope you didn't harm the other one." Silence from Keiji and this seemed to worry Julian greatly.

"What's the matter?" Keiji said coyly. "Cat got your tongue?"

"If you damaged one of those paintings—"

"I guess you'll just have to find out which one I spared." Another growl from Julian as he cocked his gun. It's very retro but still implanted with a new aged thermal clip. I would admire the aesthetics of it if I wasn't the one the muzzle was pointed at.

"I'm giving you five seconds to start moving. One," I breathed heavily, everything feeling so tense. "Two," Julian declared, Keiji not moving. "Three!"

"If you hurt her, you will regret ever following us here," warned Keiji menacingly, I had never seen him so angry.

"Four!" Julian spat back, his gun wildly shaking in his hands either from the drink or his fear of killing. I highly doubted he had ever seen a person die before; it probably scared him to death.

I careened down in pain and heard a gunshot. I feel no pain; however I felt the hot air of a bullet wiz past me where my head once was. In that instant I laid myself flat on the ground and twirled around to a position on my knees. My dress was wet and dirty and I could hear it crack and snap from my movements, I had made some new cuts. On my knees now I turned to see what had happened. Sometimes I wished I hadn't looked.

Before me was Keiji standing over the sprawling body of Julian. He was careening and begging for mercy but Keiji gave none of it. A gun was in Keiji's hand and after careful examination it appeared to be Julian's. As I got up Julian twisted on the ground, trying to get up without the use of his arms. They were apparently broken and now I knew what had made those sharp cracks when I had rolled away.

"Do it," snarled Julian in horrific agony, "pull the damn trigger, I dare you. I can promise you that I have friends. The Grey Hound will come after you, he will find you and he will kill you personally. My death will be avenged."

The dark eyes of Keiji were deep and vicious. I could not stop him, nor did I want to at that moment. A single shot was fired into the human's shoulder and he screamed out in pain. Another was fired into his opposing shoulder, causing him to cry and bleed profusely. A final bullet was shot right through his head, leaving both Keiji and I alone in the darkened alley.

The gun fell and I rushed to Keiji's side, breathing deeply. "Come on," he said softly, "let's go." I nodded and we started to walk away, the corpse of Julian laid wide in the back alleyways. Blood was running into the deep grooves into the road and were slipping downward between the cracks of a nearby gutter. It was sick but the 'Black Rat' deserved nothing less.

As we walked on I could not help but feel concerned and horrified by Julian's words. "Do you think we will be fine Keiji?" He looked at me oddly. "I mean, this Grey Hound, he seems important to Julian. I'm not sure—"

His finger went over my mouth and a smile erupted on his face. "Don't worry Kasumi; I'll always be here for you, my love." I found a smile on my own face as we walked off together hand in hand towards where Keiji had stashed the painting. We never did find out whether it was real or fake, all we knew was the hefty price we got for it on the black market. Keiji's words never left me though. I knew in my heart that Keiji was mortal and his promise was a hard one to keep, especially in this life style. But in that moment, our hands and fingers intertwining, I felt that I could trust Keiji's words.

I still can't believe I trusted those words; then again I do love him very much.

[MEMORY AND AUDIO FILE COMPLETE: DO YOU WISH TO CONTINUE?]

[FILE CLOSING]

[GREY BOX ALPHA-04 PROGRAM DISENGAGING]

[SHUTTING DOWN]

[GREY BOX PROGRAM TERMINATED]

* * *

_"I still love you Keiji…"_

_"Ummm miss…?"_

_"Yes?"_

_"Want another drink?"_

_"Yes, white wine please. Thank you Sarnia."_


	3. A Broken Telephone - A Note (i)

**A/N: This one is a bit of an experiment. I will be writing pieces that range from 100 - 500 words that detail small moments in time over encompassing a larger conflict. This larger narrative's small pieces are not chapters, more like 'sections in time'. A section will be indicated by the title of the piece (A Broken Telephone) then what form the section is in . Hopefully this is a worthy experiment that you all enjoy.**

* * *

**A Broken Telephone – A Note (i)**

_17th of January, Galactic Date: 2181_

[Found on a circular table in the Moonshine Café]

My, what happens when one flies the coop.

You may be wondering where I am and why this note has appeared. Sadly for you the revelation to the latter question is one you can probably guess, which is why I will answer it. This bar, The Moonshine Café, has been where we have worked tirelessly for days and days. In this place I found happiness and truth. I suppose this will be the place I will formally resign from as well, for the note you see before you is testament to that. I hope you understand the sympathetic sap I am and why this is so important for me to do. I always believe that every journey ends in the place in which it began and, as such, I will complete that truth.

Years ago, Dargén promised me a place in this organization. "You are like a son to me," was what he said. Now, after what I have done, I doubt he thinks that anymore. The codes are with me, yes, but I will not use them. Riches are not my concern, they are yours. I trust you will look for me, but know that darkness is my friend.

Till our paths cross again in another life,

~ Akio Man


	4. A Broken Telephone - A Conversation (i)

**A Broken Telephone – A Conversation (i)**

_18th of January, Galactic Date: 2181_

[Inside Dargén's office]

"How long have you known?"

"Only a day, sir—"

"That's a lie and I know it. How many goddamn days?"

"We surmised that the codes were taken a few days before we found the note—"

"How much is, 'a few days'?"

"Exactly five sir."

"Damn. You are sure that he has the codes?"

"He said it himself, Dargén. Akio is not one to bluff – especially with his track record. Not only that but the date in which we found this note coincides with the dispersal of the funds he kept in his bank accounts."

"So he ran away?"

"I'm afraid so, my liege. I could send a few of my men after him but I am not sure how helpful that will be. He is a deceptive bastard; you know that better than anyone else."

"I should never have let him get into my company. By Palaven, I knew that human was bad news from the first time I saw him!"

"But… what do we do now Dargén? He has the codes to the Illium vault and… damn, if only he knew what was really in there—"

"He'd think twice about throwing a note like that in a public place, I know. But do not fear my salarian friend, we shall do what we do best: wait."

"Wait? My lord I do not think that this course of action is in any way—"

"Trust that I have… leverage that shall prove quite useful in the end. After all, what do us turian's do best but exploit the militaristic weaknesses of others?"


	5. A Broken Telephone - Security Tape (i)

**A Broken Telephone – Security Tape (i)**

_21st of January, Galactic Date: 2181_

[Footage from Camera 674-33 D in alley behind The Moonshine Café]

The image is fuzzy; grey lines streaking across the screen, pixilation along the sides. Everything is binary in colour, black on white. A human in an expensive suit is leaning on a back wall, smoking his cigar peaceful. A turian from the alleyway approaches, slowly walking past with his hands deep in his coat.

"Hey, buddy. Want a drag?" asks the human from the wall, extending his cigar towards the stranger. The turian shakes his head.

"No thank you, just looking for someone."

The turian stops his pacing at the sound of the human's voice. "Aren't we all? I mean, I've been waiting by this café for god knows how long! Waiting for some damn lunatic… god, you have no idea.

"Really? Please enlighten me."

"Naw, can't." The human promptly spits on the ground. "You know how bosses are like; hard asses till the end." The human chuckled while taking another inhale from his cigar.

"Who do you work for?"

"Man, do you ask a lot of questions! I can't tell you bud, sorry for the trouble." The human throws the last inch of his cigar to the ground and starts to walk away, more concerned than before. His feet tap across the ground until he is thrown down by the turian. The human whirls around to face the turian and is screaming. "What the hell man? Who the hell do you think you are?"

The turian pulls out his pistol. "I am the Specter Nilhus and I want you to tell me where the codes are."

"I… I… I just follow orders, I really don't—"

"Poor choice of words for someone being interrogated by a Specter. Mercy for those who do not have knowledge, after all, is a punishable offense. I will find my information from another one of you syndicate dogs."

A shot is fired and the human's head falls to the ground in a puddle of black liquid. The turian looks up to the camera, points his gun, then fires.

The screen turns to static.


	6. An Eye for an Eye (Act 1)

**A/N: This one caught me by surprise on how long it turned out to be. The narrative style is very film noir yet halfway through it seemed to find its own identity. When a story turns around and completely changes its style I love it (though my editor hates it). It shows that the story is having a life of its own. There is a canon character that plays an important role in this story, but you will find out who that is when they show up.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**An Eye for an Eye (Act I)**

_I have lived in Illium all my life. I'm a slum kid, you see, the forgotten and the rejected of all society's handicapped. The life? Shit. The perks? Glorious. Smoking in public is a common courtesy by the age of nine. Alcohol is like water by the age of eleven. But the runs, oh the runs! Going down the street with my coat swept aside, my eyes darting around the alleyways looking for that one package forlorn from the pack, only to find it and bring it back to the boss who waited anxiously. Sometimes there would be booze, other times it was a small bonus like drugs or cigars. I hoped desperately that it would be cash, possibly a ticket out._

_The whole business was risky, but I knew nothing else. Everything around me was a fog: dense and clouded. Looking forward I only ended up looking back and with looking back all I saw was blood and tears. In the back I saw my lineage, my cursed line of blood. My mother, leaving me on the steps of some crazy-ass religious orphanage run by a cult no one has ever heard of. My father, a bastard, left alone on the streets to fend for himself. He got lucky with my mom when he got her cheap. It was the only way he could ever have human contact. Too bad this contact was far too much._

_But you don't want to hear about my past like every two-bit cop out there. You want to hear the dirt, the shit that still haunts my sleep. God knows how long I've stayed up dreaming of the fog. It falls around me, choking me till my vision goes red and blood seeps through my eyes. Where to start? Hard to say. But I suppose every good revenge story must start with a contract. Or so I'm told._

* * *

_14th of July, Galactic Date: 2183_

I am here, in this alleyway, alone. It is a cramped side street, not much to boast about. Garbage in piles that rise high on this side street, thrown out of windows by the tenants of the apartments that surround it. I hate the people who stay in these houses: rich snobs who think they own the whole place. Then again, compared to the people high above us with their apartments glittering with lights, these people are no more rich than I. Still, when you put it into perspective, it is easier to hate the man who is only slightly more well off. At least that feels tangible.

I rub my hands through dirt and grime till I come across the object of my desire. It is a small brown box no larger than my hand that was lying under a few bags of filth. Was this the package for the run? It had to be, Leo never lied. I take it in my hands, toy with it. It couldn't be Scorpio. That beautiful drink is much larger and comes in bottles. I shake the box and hear a rattle. Was it Sagittarius? The drug that caused fear to slip away? Unlikely. In this cycle, the plant that made the drug did not grow, thus smuggling it to Illium wouldn't be worth the price. So what is it?

My mind wanders, as it often does, and starts to play tricks on me. It starts to instill hope in my head. Was it the Libra Code? I've heard stories that the old runners tell when drinks are passed about. They speak of Libra, some sort of small code that grants them freedom from the gang. It's the ticket out, a farewell and a "thank you" for all your services. They say Leo is generous with these codes, kind even to those who have served for long periods of time. I can't believe these tales; I've served since I was a young boy. I have no hope yet of escape.

Into my jacket the box goes. I look up, scan the area to see that no one is watching, and then proceed out into the main street. I wait in the area where the shadows and lights meet for a group of pedestrians to move in front of me. In that moment I join them, slipping into their gang and continuing on without their knowledge of my presence. I'm in enemy territory. It comes with a Pisces Run. Usually I complete an Aries Run; those allow for some... flexibility with my exits. Often, Aries Runs are to frighten other opposing syndicates, tell them to back off your turf or else. I like these. These usually involve taking a guy out back, beating him up till he's nothing more than a pulpy mess and hanging him dry. At least if you are seen in these it's fine. A Pisces Run is something altogether different. You are never suppose to be there and as such you shouldn't have any record of being seen, either by organics or synthetics.

Every thought is worry as I walk down this street. The people around me, are they passers-by or people of the syndicate whose ground I walk on? Am I being watched or am I watching? Even now the runs scare me. You'd think that after doing this since I was nine I would get used to it. Fat chance.

I find myself away from this area quickly, however. The streets become clearer and soon I'm back on my turf. Here I can breathe again and know that the home base of Cancer is nearby. My heels click against the concrete. Around me the streets are busy. The lower regions of Illium are often the most lawless. Police only cater to those who have money and can supply them through taxes. I once wanted to be an officer in Illium. Not to take out the lawless bastards below, but so that I could find my father and kill him. I hate him even now.

I reach the base in no time. The mission almost complete, I do one more sweep of the area. No sign of anyone following me. Good, all I need is Leo hating me for something else now. Through the side doors I go, they are black and seemingly impossible to budge. Yet I know the trick of getting in: you slip your fingers through into the small cracks where the scanners are. They scan your fingerprints and deem if you are part of the gang. If so, a small hatch opens and you are free to enter. If not, your fingers are chopped off by lasers. New recruits often fear this system the most. Not because they fear for their fingers, but they fear they are putting their lives in their leader's hands. DNA is worth more than money in this society. If just anyone got your DNA, you'd be hunted for life. You protect yourself over your employer, a good motto to live by.

My fingers slip through and pass the check. A sharp, ring pierces the air and the lock is opened. I pull my fingers out and use the same hand to pry open the doorway. My other hand is still tight against my chest, not ready to reveal the package Leo so desperately desires. Once inside, I let the doors go and they naturally fall into place. A locking sound is my recognition for a job well done.

Jacob sees me and gives a wave. I reply with the same. He is on the top balcony overlooking the main foyer of the base. When Leo found this warehouse he supposedly took his previous leader in here and shot him till his body was dry of blood. Some of the veteran members of the team say they can still smell the blood. Me? I just smell rusting iron. Nothing organic here except the ones who work for the devil.

Jacob slides down the ladder to reach me on the bottom floor. Jacob is new and hates hanging out with the veterans who scare him half to death. His wits are at an end already and I have mercy for the kid. He reminds me of when I was young. I wish I had someone to look up to back then. In those days I had Leo and let's just say he isn't the best father figure out there.

"Hey Tony!" He waves, walking over to me with his quick gait. I have just finished the job and already he's on me. Finishing a Pisces Run involved getting the damn package out of your hand as soon as possible. With Jacob bearing down on me, I know my chances are slim. But what was a few more moments with the damn thing, eh? An eternity, that's what.

"Jacob, what have you been occupied with?" I ask, smiling at his presence. Jacob often doesn't do runs. If he does, I am usually with him. The veterans hate his giddy personality; I just think he needs some time to cook. The world is still a bright pot of flowers. Kids don't need to be exposed to the crap I was when I was young.

"Kane took me up and started to work on the roof of the building. Said he wanted me to learn the ropes." Kane. The name brings back memories. That old turian and I went way back. He wore a long black trench coat that he still carries to this day. A cigarette is always in his mouth. I think it must be permanently attached to his lips for how often I see him smoking one. He's a cool cat, not often frazzled by anything or anyone. Killing isn't his specialty, fear and pain are and I like that about him. Then again, Kane isn't a runner; he's a mechanic. Makes me wonder why Leo put him in that role.

"Good, Kane knows what he's doing. If you gotta learn from someone, learn from him."

Jacob laughs. "Kane said the same thing about you and the runs. I asked him where you were and he responded, 'Doin' what that ol' bastard does best.'" I laugh at Jacob's impersonation of the old turian. I grab the young boy's shoulder and lead him in the direction I was going. As we walk he continues to talk. "What type of run was it?"

"Pisces," I reply monotone.

"That's good. I hate Aries Runs. They are the worst." I have mercy for the kid. He is innocent, doesn't have his first kill on his record yet. Leo has been awfully kind about that. I was offered an Aries Run on my first mission out. I really didn't do anything, just watched Leo punch the salarian into the dirt and spit on him. It's funny to watch Leo beating up one of his own species. To Leo, dirt is dirt and flesh is flesh. 'Take it down to a molecular level and we are all the same.' Damn Leo and his flashy remarks.

"Get used to them, kid, they are a common thing for us runners."

Jacob presses his lips tight and straightens his button-down shirt. I never see him wear anything but that white button-down shirt. It is almost black with all the soot and filth that stains it, yet the next day it is always back to the pure white from before. The kid's classy, I give him that. "I suppose, but Kane never does runs. He sticks to the base."

"He's a mechanic, it's his job. Be lucky you're not a sweeper."

Jacob nods at my comment. Felicia was a sweeper and it got her killed. Poor kid, never knew she had been his real mother. Felicia was a good gal, spent many a night where we had fun. I never found out who the father was, though I was always by her side till the end. Hell, I delivered her damn babe, Jacob, as well. Whatever, the past is the past. Sweepers are no good and neither are their missions, Gemini's.

We walk a little longer till I reach the doors to Leo's office. Jacob stays behind and walks off after saying his goodbyes. The kid knows that only senior members are allowed past the two guards. While I'm not a senior member, I take special preference towards Leo. He and I go way back.

Two krogans guard the door and spit to the ground when I appear. I look back and forth between them. Couple of thugs hired off the street. I wonder what they were promised that made it all so worthwhile. Leo has a way of tugging it out of anyone, believe me. "I'm here to see the boss."

One snorts. "Like hell." Ah, a new one. I thought as much from the newly christened armor. I can still smell the prisoner blood from the outfit. Initiation for the guards often involves butchering a prisoner in the cages below the base. This is a tough task for most new recruits, however I feel that these krogans had no trouble with it.

"Tough, I need to see him," I assert.

One laughs. "Look at this human who thinks he's more important than us."

"I am," I reply strongly. The krogans look at me and stop their laughter, now either mildly amused or growing in anger.

"Look, I don't need to tell you nothing. Leo said that he wasn't to be disturbed."

"Well lookie at that, I'm disturbing him. Let me in you big lug." As I walk forward I am brushed aside. The gun in the hands of the left krogan starts twitching irritably.

"No one is allowed, orders are orders." I turn away and swear. The krogan who just spoke sighs and comes forward, placing his hand on my shoulder. "Look, I'd let you in if I could, but Leo said—" A sympathetic krogan? Easy prey. I take his hand and fling him over my shoulder, using his weight to propel him forward. In the confusion of this, the other guard raises his gun to fire. Seeing this I kick it upward, the bullets shooting into the ceiling causing dust to fall. With my free hand I wrap my fingers around the guard's neck, slowly crushing the jugular bones around the trachea. Heh, I know the salairan lingo.

"I'm seeing Leo, got it you lug?" The krogan nods his head and I release my grip. In an instant the massive creature is choking and spluttering at my feet. Damn thing, I hate these brainless buffoons. "Remember my name next time you're on post, ok? It's Tony. Leo sees me whether he likes to or not. Understand?"

The krogan looks at me through one eye, rubbing his throat slowly. "Perfectly, human. Go right in."

I nod and enter in, the doors swinging wildly as I throw myself into the room. It is lavishly decorated. The rug is Persian, the art is post colonial turian hierarchy. The desk is made from trees on the asari world of Savernia. The drink in the salarian's hand he made himself. "I heard a noise out there Tony. Guards didn't give you too much trouble I hypothesize?"

"No, not at all," I grunt slowly approaching the desk. His back is to me, looking at the painting behind his desk. It is a made by some famous artist. June Fasha is the name, I think. Anyway, I care nothing for art. I have the package from the run and I want it out of my hands as soon as possible. "I'd suggest you teach them a few things about me first though."

The salarian turns and chuckles. "Why do I have to teach them when you can do it yourself?"

I shake my head and produce the package from my coat. "I wouldn't want this little beauty broken, now would I? 'Teaching' idiots requires two hands, if I recall correctly from your teaching."

"And you did it in one, as expected," replies Leo smoothly as he takes the package from my hand. He shakes it like I did and places it near his ear. There is a moment of silence before he puts the package on his table and takes a swig of his drink. Leo, the salarian who taught me everything I know, found me on the side of the road near an orphanage. I ran away, of course. Hated it there. He promised me everything I ever wanted: power, strength, the ability to call masses to my beckoning. Even now, when I think he's done with his lessons he is still teaching me, at least that's what he says.

After this moment passes I place my hand on the desk. "So?"

"So?" He imitates.

"What's in the package?"

"Why would it matter to you, Tony?"

"It does, now what is it?"

Leo stares at me intently for a moment before chuckling to himself. He takes another sip of his drink and lays it on the table, swirling his finger around the rim of the glass. "You think this is the Libra Code." I am slightly taken aback but I know the penalty for lying to someone like Leo.

"Ya, I was thinking something like that."

The salarian nods his head and looks down at the package, thinking deeply about it. I can tell when he's thinking of what to say. I've known Leo so long he's as familiar as the back of my hand. "It's not the Libra Code, I can tell you that." I nod, not really caring but more interested than anything else. "In actuality it runs very similar to the Taurus and Capricorn enhancements everyone seems to be killing themselves over." I've heard of the creations. Apparently some big shot in some tech company decided to go loony and make a bunch of augmentations. Faster reflexes, faster brain functions, faster you name it. The big thing about these chips is that they only work for people who bring the exoskeleton and have it installed into their spine surgically. Of course, only the rich and the idiotic do such things. But when they began to place the exoskeleton in the patients, the creator came across a realization. These people would be more 'perfect' than he. So he killed them all. Burned himself alive in his factory and watched the whole thing collapse around him. Now here is where the story gets interesting. There are two tales; one that his second in command saw his collapsing mind and decided to clone the devices, only he was rushed for time. The chips he created were only a fraction as powerful as the real things, so he naturally went mad searching for ways to fix them. The second story(the more interesting one) is that this crazy idiot's mistress was in on the project. She slipped him a few drugs and switched the chips when he wasn't looking. Even if he didn't go mad and didn't kill the patients who were granted the exoskeleton, the chips wouldn't have worked. They say that she's out there someone, pissing herself because she can't install them and doesn't know how they work.

"So this package has something to do with the chips, I assume?" I ask, now more curious than I was before.

Leo shrugs. "I don't know, nor will I tell you."

I grin. "You know don't you, you little liar."

He smiles back and starts to shoo me away. "Come now, Tony, you don't have to know everything do you? Enjoy yourself. From what I hear the run was a success, no one knew you were there. Take a load off, I hear that they just brought in a fresh batch of Scorpio."

I shake my head to this as I exit. "If it's all the same to you, I would rather take one of those Virgo's. I'm feeling a bit drained right now and need a little pick-me-up. Talk to you later, Leo."

The last words I hear as I leave his office are simple and potent. "See you around, son."

Leaving that place and entering the next is easy. The two krogan guards nod their heads as I pass and I give them a gentle salute. The entrance to the Virgos is one I know off by heart and having one of them caress my body is something I want very much. I once had a Virgo who was a turian. Many say that turian females are not the best sexual partners, but I would like to disagree. They have some of the most intense emotional outbursts and their excitement is unmatched in the bed. However, the next morning you will find yourself covered with scratches from their hard metal plates. This never bothers me though; the moment is always what counts for me.

I pick an asari today. Maybe because I want my mind cleared of the wonder of what that package holds, maybe because I wanted a show. Though turians may be the loudest with their pleasure, the asari are the quietest. Maybe a little quiet is what I want. After I choose the asari I desire, I follow the Virgo to her quarters; in this base their quarters are located beneath the ground, away from all preying eyes who would want to take a peek. Not only that, but the loud moans of pleasure that are sure to make men jealous or ashamed. I reach her room with no difficulty and find myself greeted to a bed with rose petals on them. Nice and simple. This asari seems to be accustomed to dealing with humans and I have no trouble with that. As I usually do, I take off my shoes, socks, and coat. I reach the edge of the bed and sit on it, waiting to be entertained. In these moments I find letting my counterpart do all the foreplay gets her excited and mixes it up for me. Every Virgo is different; I guess that's why I like it so much.

Her outfit is short and leaves nothing to the imagination. With a sway of her hips she walks towards me. Every movement is like water and I find myself growing attracted to this female. Her fingers run up my thigh and her mouth bites on my ear, whispering pleasures into my mind. My hands naturally go low and she seems to enjoy this very much.

As she retreats from my ear I pull her in. I bite her ear and she coos in pleasure. "You're lucky you got me," I whisper seductively. "I've been known to have Virgos who come back for seconds." With that her top is off and so is mine and we fall onto the bed, I await a night of pleasure and relaxation.

* * *

_Elaboration is my specialty. I tell it how it is. Though you may not appreciate my storytelling methods, officer, I assure you they are the most interesting. To know my story and my methods, you must know everything about me before the incident. Everything leads up to everything. I can only tell you what I have been taught. If you can't figure out what I've been taught then my information is useless to you._

_In the end we are our past. We can't run from the lineage that birthed us. We are who we are more through not just genealogy, but humanology. No... I don't think that's a word, but it damn well should be!_

_Where was I? Ah yes, the Virgo, that sweet and lovely Virgo I spent the night with. Telling the truth? Officer, I can assure you as sure as I am born that I am telling you the truth. No, the two-bit cops are the ones I lie to. They aren't like you; no they are dumb and easy to fool. Mind if I smoke? Thanks._

_So where was I? Ah, yes the human Virgo..._

* * *

I wake up with the naked asari beside me. Everything is calm and peaceful. I cannot believe the amazing night I just had. The way she moved, the way she acted. Though the night was fun, I can't help but feel like I have had better. Felicia was always a good time. I suppose that was why I kept coming back to her.

I shake my head and I get out of bed. The day is on me and I have no time to waste. I hear the sound of her voice and turn to find her slowly creeping out of the covers. Her entire top is exposed and I cannot help but admire her beauty. "Where are you going, hot stuff?" She asks lazily after a yawn.

I walk over and kiss her, my lips tugging on her lower one. My face lowers and goes to her neck, which I kiss and caress lightly. My head rises and I meet her face to face. "Got to go, interested in seeing what Leo has planned today."

"Leo?" she asks with mock hurt. "What about this lovely Virgo right here, babe? I'm all that you ever need." I press my finger against her puckered lips. A grin rises on my face as I kiss her forehead and pat her with my other hand.

"Now, now," I reply coolly. "What did I say about seconds? I'll give you some later. Right now, Leo takes preference." I start to put on my pants when she comes from behind and begins to caress my upper body.

"Come on love, it'll only be a few moments." I look from her to the clothes on the floor and sigh. I turn around and hoist her up onto my body and fall with her onto the bed, moaning in delight.

After our second outing of pleasure, I leave. Twice is enough for me, after the third time is when I get bored. It is a few moments before I am up on the main floor again. I walk around, checking for any guards or personnel who are wandering the halls. No one. Blast! I decide to check the main area, maybe Leo is giving a public address. If he is handing out the runs for the day I do not want to get caught with another crappy job. A few Pisces Runs are fine, but too many and I start to grow tired of it all.

I am right about where the meeting is taking place. I enter in just as the whole extravaganza is starting. I look around; trying to find people I know who I can relax with. I spy Jacob and Kane together and decide that this is as good a time as any to stick with them. A few steps in and they see my automatically. Jacob waves me over with his usual enthusiasm and Kane just sits there with a cigarette pressed between his lips, slow fountains of smoke bellowing from his mouth.

"Good to see you bud," he says after a cough. "Thought I wouldn't see you here after what the boys were saying."

I cock my head. "Boys?" I ask.

Kane laughs and then coughs heavily. He takes a moment to clear his throat before he continues. "Heard you were taking a 'Virgo run'," he jokes with a slap on the back. "Honestly, I thought you would be there all day today. I know how much you need a pick-me-up after a Pisces Run."

"We don't need to talk about it," I respond gruffly. My sex life is my sex life and I don't need anyone commenting on it.

Kane shrugs and places the cigarette back into his mouth. I like Kane, he is quick to act and even quicker to react. He has this calm cool motivation about him I can't deny. Maybe that is why I've stuck around with him so long. The other members of the team bore me too much. But I guess they hate me all the same with my closeness to Leo. Still, it's the business I'm in. I talk dirt about everyone behind their back and they do the same to me. If you don't grow a thick skin fast in this world then you'll never get the Virgos. Your pride will shrink after the first rumor they hear about you.

It is not long before Leo shows up. He is as calm and collective as he always is. His coat neatly swept to one side, his head positioned in authority. Everything he does speak to his leadership qualities. No one knows his name; then again he never knew his leader's name before him. Leo is a common mask all leaders of this gang wear. It is said that he killed off all the veteran members who were his friends, the ones who knew his real name. I do not doubt this. Leo is as cruel and heartless as well all are. All of us except Jacob of course, and I'm fine with that.

The jobs are divided off accordingly. Kane gets a job fixing a section of the base: Cancer. A few Aquarius' get some spying missions on a local syndicate causing trouble. I wait for my name; I can only hope it is an Aries Run, or at least something fun. At last he comes to my name and to my delight it is what I hoped it would be. I nod my head towards Leo who nods back politely. I am free to have fun today and tonight that special asari may have a third visit from me. Who knows? Maybe it is time to break my rule once again of sleeping with—

"Jacob Thornton will be completing Gemini Run." My heart freezes. My gait stops. What is Jacob doing? "More details will be given to you in my office. I want you to follow me quickly, Jacob, we don't have a moment to lose." I turn on my heel and walk over to Jacob who is being herded away by Leo. I grab the young boy's shoulder and yank him towards me, protecting him in my arms. Leo sees this and is slightly angry, yet calms himself knowing that I am the one pulling Jacob back. "What are you doing Tony?"

"I want to know," I respond with a dark undertone. "What is Jacob's job today?"

Leo looks to me than the boy. "A Gemini Run, an assassination. His mother was quite good at them and I think this is a good time to—"

"You do realize that it killed her, right?" My words are fire and I feel Jacob shrink back in my grip. I feel for the kid, having your mother talked about like she's a piece of meat isn't fun. I know exactly how he feels.

"Look, Tony, whatever emotional connection you had with Felicia, it has to stop. Honestly, I can't have you running around being the protector of her son. Now my plans are final and need to be carried out. Only a boy such as this will be qualified to complete the task. This is vital for our syndicate's greater goals. I need this boy to do a Gemini Run."

I look to Leo and growl. I know why he needs Jacob to complete the task but I do not agree with it at all. Jacob is too young, too inexperienced to complete such a thing successfully. What was Leo thinking? That he could pull off another miracle like he did with me? Was that why he liked me so much? I am his damn lucky charm that proves he can pull a success out of thin air. I am his proof that experience doesn't matter in the field; all that matters is cold blooded ruthlessness. I swore off Gemini Runs after what he did to me, yet even now with Jacob facing the same horror I once encountered, I know the path that is set out for me.

"I will do the run." Leo starts laughing. I repeat my statement and this time Leo starts thinking about what I am saying. He scowls and looks down at the young human boy, then back-up to me. Confusion is flooding his face and he does not know what to say. I did not want to cause this much worry in Leo but Jacob's safety comes first. The young boy is the last thing that is pure in this world. I'll be damned if I let that go.

Leo looks at my curiously and responds, "Are you sure? I mean, you swore off Gemini Runs long ago—"

"Let me do it, Leo," I assert again, my tone completely even.

He looks to me, then the boy in my arms once more. At last he sighs heavily and looks me right in the eye. "Alright, my lucky charm. Jacob will be spared from this task, I trust you to complete the task for me. He will complete your Aries Run instead. Does that sound adequate?" I nod enthusiastically, sending thanks to Leo who only shrugs it off. "You're welcome, but this is not the time yet. I need you in my office as soon as possible. Tell Jacob his new mission then report to me as soon as you can. You may go." With that, Leo leaves without another word, his jacket billowing as he walks back through the open doors to his office a few yards away.

I look to Jacob in my arms and turn him around, sighing with relief now that I know he is safe. "Now Jacob, I want you to know the important basics of an Aries Run—"

"No, I don't want to do that. I want you to do that." I am shocked by his resistance and insist that he complete the Aries Run. "No, Leo wanted me to complete the Gemini Run so I will complete the run—"

"No you won't," I order the young boy. Jacob seems taken aback yet remains confident. He continues to argue, telling me that I have no say over what he does. This is when I yelled at him. "I have every right to tell you what to do if it means keeping you safe! You know what a Gemini Run really is? It's an assassination, Jacob. You have to kill someone in cold blood. No, the Aries Runs are similar but very different, those are low profile. These are you killing an important figure in broad daylight in the most brutal way possible! I will not allow you to go through what I went through, what your mother went through. Do you want to end up like Felicia?"

In that moment I know I have gone too far, yet the damage is done. Jacob looks to me and punches me square in the jaw; he turns and runs off swearing and crying. I stand rubbing my jaw and yelling for him to come back. I know it is no use but I do it anyway. Jacob is gone and I have no one to blame but myself. I rub my jaw as I walk to Leo's office. _Damn kids_, I think. _They don't know what's good for them till they lose it all._

* * *

_Yes I went too far, I understand that. Jeb was just a young boy and his mother was someone I cared deeply for. If I had told him everything in a gentle tone he wouldn't have listened. Besides, this kid didn't know right from left. How could I expect him to understand the complex motivations I had? Ya, I guess you're right. If I had tried to understand him we wouldn't be here. But that's life, isn't it? You punch yourself in the gut and expect to walk out like nothing happened. But I know from experience that the gut punch comes back to haunt you, believe me._

_The run? Ya I knew what the assassination was for and who it was I was to kill. In that time I really didn't care about my safety, all I cared about was Jeb's. Damn, that kid really tugged on me. His mother was the same way. Can you believe I was the one asking for us to meet up and see each other? I was the one asking for the second night and the third night and the fourth night._

_But what did that cause? Nothing. Just pain and misery. Just me with an empty hole in my heart when she died and me left with her son Jacob alone without a lover... What? Did I say that name? I meant Jeb. Sorry, I know a lot of kids so I can get mixed up with the names. Yes I'm sure his name was Jeb. Why would I lie to you? What did I tell you about the..._

_Ya, ya I'll continue. Jeez, don't get your knickers in a knot. Now, where was I? Ah yes, I believe we are finally onto the contract now aren't we?_

* * *

Here I am, in a crimson dingy bar with a drink before me waiting for the perfect time to kill a master assassin. What can possibly go wrong? I dare not utter any worse mojo, the situation is as dire as it gets. The Gemini Run was explained to me simply by Leo. He said that there was a drell assassin who had killed a valuable asset to the syndicate. This assassin was hired by numerous gangs to take out this key figure. Though Leo did not tell me why this had happened, I have my suspicions. It has something to do with that package I picked up yesterday. Whatever was inside that box had to be important, it had to be.

I ask Tim for another drink. Tim is a nice guy, kinda dumb but at least competent in his workings. I doubt that he could ever kill a man or even kill a fly, but I suppose appearances can be deceiving, though they do tell you everything about a person. For example, to anyone looking at me I am a helpless drunk, to anyone in the syndicate I am a sex addict. Ya, I guess appearances don't matter a lot.

Tim gives me the drink and I thank him for it. "Just doing my service to Illium," he replies as he cleans the counter top. This place has changed over the years. I have seen it renovated in its first year and its growth in popularity. Where else could you grab a drink and sing your sorrows away? If I had to kill anyone, I'm damn glad I can do it in the Moonshine Café.

I down the drink quickly and ask for another one. There are quite a few people here in the velvet carpeted bar, the fire roaring peacefully even though the weather outside is pristine. I have spent the entire day in this bar; scouting out locations on where the assassin will come from, where I can kill him, etc. Leo told me that a contact was to meet with the assassin tonight. An Aquarius told him that it was to be on the second floor in a back storage room in the bar. I can't argue with the information at all; what an Aquarius says is often fact. I learned that the hard way before.

Tim looks at me questionably. "You sure you want another one?" he asks worriedly. Tim. Tim, Tim, Tim, Tim. One is never enough. I can't help but think the man a bit innocent. How could he not know the penalties of a syndicate thug? Then again, this man is a simple bartender, what would he know about the real world? He is in this little bar, content to sit by the fire and laugh away. A hiccup escapes my lips. Maybe I am drinking too much... Naw, I am fine. Nothing is wrong with me.

"Another turian brandy please," I ask, much more forcefully than I had intended to.

Tim sighs and picks up my glass and a bottle of the brandy. As he pours he starts a-talking again. "Look Tony, you have to understand that life isn't about this syndicate nonsense—"

I look at him funny. "What do you mean? What the hell is it about if not that?"

His lips form a fine line as he continues to pour out my drink. "I mean that you need to find something better for yourself. I know you're in here for some job, don't confuse me for an idiot. However, I want you to know that the deeper you get into this, the harder it is to get out. Trust me, one day you will want to get out and if you're in too deep..." He does not finish his sentence; my drink had been fully poured.

I grab it from his hands and start to drink. I finish about half before I slam it back onto the table. Another hiccup and another sigh from me. Maybe drinking is not the best way to pass time while waiting to kill someone. Why did I drink anyway? Was I that worried about killing again? I have killed before. Plenty of Aries Runs got messy and I had to kill a few goons. In those times I had no problem... so what was with me now? Was it the memories of the last Gemini Run I had done? Was that kill still haunting me to this day?

"I would say it is," comes this sentence from Tim. I look up to see the human bartender before me sweeping the table nonchalant. He looks up and smiles at me. He smiles at me! How could he do that after answering my thoughts?

"How...?" I ask, my voice is slightly slurred. "How did you know...?"

Tim laughs as he continues to wipe the counter. "You were talking out loud, my friend. Excuse me for a second." A nearby patron is asking for some wine and Tim has to get her order. I nod for him to go and he does. Maybe I have drunken enough. Ya, I have drunken enough for today. After all I need to aim properly to kill the drell bastard right?

The storage room. How will I know when he will come in? I guess I just have to wait in the room till he comes. I check my watch. It is 10pm on the dot. Leo said the transaction would happen between ten and ten thirty. Fear enters my throat as I realize that now is the time. I throw my receipt on the table with the credits I have and leave quietly. My silenced pistol is tight against my jacket. No one will hear the drell when he dies, I will be sure of that. The spiral staircase leads me up to the second floor where I asked a patron where the bathrooms are. I, of course, know where they are but giving an explanation for my whereabouts and a witness is often a good call in situations like these. He explains that it is through the doors and down the hall. "Keep in mind it is the last door on the right side. The left are all storage areas. Nothing interesting there."

I nod. "Of course, nothing interesting there." I give him my thanks and enter through the door. I turn right and head down the hall, counting the doors as I go. At last I reach the fourth on the left and turn the knob. Slowly I enter, making sure I do not make a sound. I am alone in the room. Perfect.

I close the door and position myself to the right of it. Then I wait. The seconds tick by and I wait. I wait for the drell to come through that door where I will shot him in the head and be done with this damn job. Sweat runs down my forehead and I have to wipe it off. I feel clammy and sick. Maybe I shouldn't have had all those drinks. I shake my head, realizing that the past was the past and the present is all that matters. My breath is quick and my palms sweaty. _It'll be over and done with_, I tell myself._ It'll be over and done with._

I hear footsteps and I press myself tightly against the wall. This is it. This is what I have done to save Jacob from this terror. I close my eyes and breathe deeply as I produce my silenced weapon from my jacket. It will all be over soon. Just deep breathes and I will be done. I am so close to finishing this. The window before me is blowing; the white satin curtain sways in the breeze. Wait... that window was closed when I got in.

I throw myself from the wall and scan the room. I hear nothing and the door is still closed. But how is the window open? Maybe it's the drinks playing with me. It must be. I lower my weapon slightly and hear a loud thump behind me. I whisk around and lift my weapon only to have it smacked out of my hand smashed against the opposing wall. A punch connects with the left side of my face and I parry the next punch. I throw a few but am too drunk to connect. Another punch hits me in the back and pain is searing through my head. I turn around and find myself smacked straight in the face. I growl and throw a right hook, it connects and my assailant steps back a bit. However, he slips by my next jab and twists my arm behind me. I twist around, kicking his knee in and slamming my elbow into his cranium. I miss and he rolls, knocking me to the ground.

My head ricochets off the wooden floor as I try and get up but cannot. I feel a warm liquid run down my forehead as I squirm beneath my assailant. Who is this guy? Who the hell does he think he is to get the jump on me – Me!

"Who are you?" the drell asks in his low croaky tones. I do not answer, only spit in his face. The spit misses and collides with my face and the ground. Damn gravity. I squirm again but am slapped in the face by the hard hand of the reptile above me. "I repeat again: who are you, assassin?"

Assassin, eh? Whoever this drell is, he has some style; I give him that. However, I still won't talk with him. I would rather die than tell him about the syndicate. "Go to hell," I mutter as I squirm again, trying to escape.

The drell holds me firmly with one hand as a pistol is removed from his jacket. I eye the pistol nervously. I take it back; I wouldn't die for my syndicate. "I know you have been sent by a syndicate who wishes to kill me. The reasons are clouded right now and I cannot see the guilt or innocence of you. Are you merely a bystander caught in this war, or are you a player?"

"I don't know what the hell you are talking about, frog!" I scream as I push myself to and fro under the drell.

"You are young for an assassin, yet the guilt is all the same. I am sorry for what must be done. May I be forgiven for killing such a young man. It is sad when so much potential is ruined by the greed of a single man wanting to become a god. May the gods above forgive you for your sins." The drell raises the pistol to my face. The barrel of the gun is staring my left eye into submission. This is it: my demise.

I close my eyes, waiting for the bullet to pierce my skull. I wait and I wait. Then...

Nothing.


	7. A Broken Telephone - A Conversation (ii)

**A Broken Telephone – A Conversation (ii)**

_21st of January, Galactic Date: 2181_

[Inside The Moonshine Café]

"Hey buddy! Long time no fucking see, how's it going?"

"I am not your friend, Kari, and I doubt I will ever be."

"Now now, just because I'm a human and I'm new to this universe doesn't mean—"

"It means we are not friends."

"Fine, fine jeez. Hey, bartender!"

"His name is Tim-"

"Ya, ya whatever salarian. Tim, can you pass me some turian brandy? I need to warm up."

"This place does have automatic heating—"

"But it feels so… drab! God, what I'd do to this place just so it would have more… pizzazz! Ya know?"

"No, I do not know, human."

"Thanks Tim, real lifesaver. Mmmmmm that hits the spot! So, what do we need to discuss? What does Dargén want me to do now?"

"The plan is being set in motion; the trap needs to be built before it can be sprung. You knew Akio better than anyone else—"

"You bet I did! Being the only humans in the syndicate, it was fate that we would at least talk once or twice!"

"Then you can tell us where he would hide?"

"That I can't help you with. I know the people he hung out with and where his house was, but then again the syndicate could probably get all that. However… there was this one gal…"

"Yes? Who are you thinking of?"

"You know the asari in the group? Name escapes me right now, but she's the really sturdy top and bottom – if you catch my drift. Not only that but she's very punctual. Damn, she's a focused one—"

"Yes, I do know who you are talking about."

"Well it seems our friend Akio had been seeing her, lord knows why, but I think it could be a start for you gentleman in the syndicate."

"Possibly, thank you for your time Kari. Any more information?"

"I might have some; anyway I'll tell ya when I get back."

"Where you going?"

"Outside. I really need a good smoke right now, be back in a few."


	8. A Broken Telephone - A Note (ii)

** Broken Telephone – A Note (ii)**

_23rd of January, Galactic Date: 2181_

My love,

It has been far too long since we last spoke. News of your departure has reached my ears. Though Dargén wishes to silence all rumors, he very well knows that they will spread. Though he thinks he can, not even the turian himself can stop wildfire. Listen my love; I do not have much time. This note may be my last chance to get in contact with you. I understand that you are away from your home, which is why I have sent this to your next logical hideout: our place. Those nights when we would lie down beside one another and kiss the moonlight that shone down.

I wish to leave this place, you remember how I talked about leaving? How couldn't you. Often you would ease my tears; tell me that if you had the means, you would sweep me off my feet and take me away from all this. Well, is this not the time? Should we not leave this horrid syndicate hand in hand? Like lovers?

I have a plan. In that bar on the side of the street we will meet. You know the place well. It was where our dealings with major syndicates were completed. Here we will meet by the bar counter and discuss or escape. Once we decide on our plot we will run off together, hand in hand like we always planned. We will be like the rich Illium occupants who mock us from above. We will be successful, well off, deeply in love, and safe. My love, all I wish is for us to be safe once more. For me to hold your hand in mine and know nothing more. All this talk about your betrayal burns at my heart and I wish to cry "He is not like that!" and refute all the lies at every turn. However, I know that my mouth must be closed for your safety. Know that my every thought is of you.

Fear will be a natural reaction when you see this letter. But fear not of my betrayal. No one knows this little secret but us. In fact, the very promise you made to me was never uttered to anyone in the gang. They would not be able to find this letter either, for they do not know of our loving ways. Do not take long to come to my aid, my love. The time shall be at 9:00 pm and the date shall be the 26th of this month. Goddess, I miss you. May you be safe, my darling,

~ Junia T'Delan


	9. An Angel's Redemption

**A/N: I'll keep this note short today. I won't spoil which canon character is in this story right now, I'll let it be a surprise (though you can probably guess from the title). I'm really proud of what I explore in this story. It's a sweet story for the holidays and made me glad that I wrote it.**

**Enjoy the story and have a merry Christmas.**

* * *

**An Angel's Redemption**

_24th of December, Galactic Date: 2184_

The bar was calm and quiet. A few patrons were sending themselves out, giving Sarnia a few last minute tips and bills for the wonderful service. To this Tim smiled from the circular counter he stood behind. The young asari had been employed for a good year, possibly longer and already she had proven her worth. Though Tim never saw her just as being 'worth' something, he saw her as a person; a living and breathing person whom he loved. To him, that was the most wonderful thing in the cosmos. The whole scene was perfect. Not a single drop of rain outside, the fireplace roaring in the background, the night reaching its peak. Comfort emanated from every corner of the bar and Tim couldn't have been happier.

A ring of the bell and Sarnia whisked her head around from the table she was washing. It was a turian, covered head to toe in a blue battle gear. She found this image strange, especially since he was sauntering over like a drunk_. I mean, he hasn't even ordered anything yet, how could he be drunk?_ She thought to herself. Yet she noticed Tim also spy the turian and instantly she knew that the young, drunken turian was in good hands. _He's good in dealing with the rejects, _she thought with a smile. After all, about a year ago she was one of these rejects.

The turian sat down at the circular table and ordered some turian brandy. Tim nodded to this and brought up a cup from the shelves underneath the counter. He cleaned the large glass with his shawl and then poured the thick brandy that the patron ordered. The glass was set down and so were the credits. _Interesting_, thought Tim curiously, _this one pays for his drinks before he finishes them. _But it did not matter to him at the moment, as long as the customer was enjoying himself, everything was fine.

The bar was uneventful after that. The turian in battle gear ordered a few more drinks and soon he was the only left. He had stayed for an hour after closing and at the thrones of night, Sarnia was growing tired. As Tim was washing the opposite counter to the turian, Sarnia approached him. "Tim?" She asked softly.

The bartender looked around and gave a soft smile. "Hey you," he replied and put his hand on her shoulder. "What can I do for you?"

Sarnia looked down to the floor after placing her hand on top of Tim's and squeezing. "Look, I know your rule about never kicking someone out of the bar—"

"You want me to remove that turian over there." Sarnia looked slightly distressed yet sighed all the same.

"Yes, I'm tired and I just want to spend the night with you."

Tim chuckled. "Well, you have me for the whole day tomorrow due to the circumstances—"

"But I don't want you because of the occasion," she interrupted taking his hand off her shoulder. "I just want to spend some time with you because I can. You know what? Never mind, I'm just being selfish again. I'm off to my—"

She couldn't finish her sentence before Tim grabbed her and gave her a quick kiss on the lips. They shared the kiss for a moment, alerting the turian to their unity which made him snort in discontent. At last they parted and Tim rubbed his hand on her cheek. "I'll talk to him right now. Get some sleep."

Sarnia nodded and placed her hand on his cheek, mirroring his action. "You too, love." With that the dark blue asari turned around and placed her waitress apron on the table.

As she walked off, she spied the turian all the way up the stairs. It was not a hateful gaze, but a curious one. _She reminds me of someone I once knew_, thought the turian. But the pain of the memory; the past was too much, so he took another gulp of his alcohol to ease the pain. The turian noticed the human male approaching him and at the sound of soft footsteps on carpet, the turian threw out his glass for another drink.

Tim sighed. "Don't you think you've had enough, friend?"

The turian looked up and laughed. His laugh was rough and cold, a laugh that felt forced yet could only be brought out by incessant amounts of alcohol. "Friend… that's a funny word, bartender. I haven't heard that term used correctly in a long time." The turian tapped his glass. "If it's all the same to you, I'll take another drink. That's a very 'friendly' thing to do." The turian chuckled once more as he squirmed in his chair. Tim nodded and took the glass that was in front of the turian's crossed arms on the table. The turian had a scaly head with soft cream mandibles that flickered drunkenly. The turian looked old and worn despite probably being around the age of thirty.

Tim could not help but feel sympathy for the turian. He knew how painful it was to live a long life. After a moment of filling the glass again, Tim returned and placed it before the turian. The turian's eyes lit up at the sight of the beer and immediately started to fumble in his pockets for a few credits. Once his hand found the suitable amount he raised it and planned to give it to the bartender. What he didn't plan for was the bartender turning it down. "No, it's fine. This drink is on the house."

The turian grinned. "You treat your patrons well, bartender," smiled the turian as he took the glass in his fist and chugged down a large sum of the contents. While he drank Tim watched, inspecting the turian's habits. There must be a reason for his actions.

"I would be a pretty poor bartender if I did not treat those I hold dearest to me well." The turian noticed this comment and lowered his glass to the counter.

"I heard a few people talking about this place all over Illium before I got here. They say that the Moonshine Café is the best place to grab a drink and hear a story."

Tim lightly smirked. "They say a lot of things, don't they?"

The turian before him nodded slowly before pursing his lips and speaking again. "They also say that this place has been running for... what's it now, four years?"

"Soon to be five, my friend. The New Year is approaching and promises are like honey to us worker bees."

The turian looked to the human curiously. This man seemed to be content to watch a sad old turian solider cry over a musty beer. Hell, the alcohol wasn't the best thing about this place at all. So why was he still here? It could be the decorum. _Straight from the 1920's on Earth, they say_, thought the turian as he looked around. _They even have a fireplace, damn this guy's classy. _"Look, I'm not here to cause a ruckus." The bartender raised a brow and the turian pointed a finger over to the spiral staircase leading up to the second floor. "Your asari friend. She didn't really want me around from the looks of it."

_He's perceptive, I'll give him that, _thought Tim. "She's a bit bothered, but mostly because I'm up late so often taking care of this bar. It's my baby. That's also something they say about me and this place, if you're interested."

The turian nodded thoughtfully before speaking once more. "Look, I don't want to keep you up because of another sorry sap like me. I'll pay my fare and get out, no trouble at all. To me, this is a place to crash and burn, that's all. To you, this is your family. I have no business meddling with family."

The turian started to depart but the voice of the bartender brought him back around. "You lost your family, didn't you?" The question jarred the turian and he had to think for a long moment before replying. _Have I lost my family?_ The question seemed so distant... flashes of blood, pain, anguish, then a name. It was a cursed name, a name stained in the blood of the countless people he loved. Then he was on the floor, crying over the bodies of his comrades around him, their bodies spelling out the name in their blood and gore. Sidonis.

The turian soldier turned around to face the human bartender. "How did you know-?"

The bartender smiled. "I've been where you have been right now, trust me. Here," he motioned towards a stool, "take a seat and talk some more. I've got time."

Despite the nagging want to leave, to run away from anything that jarred those horrid nightmares of blood and suffering, the turian walked over to the counter and sat down again. "Isn't your asari friend going to be upset?" Asked the turian coyly.

Tim grinned. "Maybe, but I think she can forgive me for trying to help a poor soldier out." The human flashed two cups on the table and filled them with boiling hot water. The final touch was a single lemon in each to which the human swirled them around in the drinks. He passed one cup to the turian and left the other for himself. "Take a sip, not as nice as alcohol in the beginning, but soothes you like no other." The bartender sipped the drink slowly, savoring each taste of the water swishing down his throat.

The turian gazed at the water curiously and had to be prodded to take a sip. One lick of the liquid caused the turian to scowl from the sour taste, which caused the bartender to chuckle slightly. The turian licked his lips and his mandibles flickered irritably as he slowly took sips from the cup. He was drinking it after all, to be polite and only that.

"So," started the bartender after a moment of calm had passed between the two species, "what's your name?"

The turian chuckled. "Isn't it customary in human culture for the initiator of the date to introduce himself first?" Asked the turian mischievously as he took another tranquil sip of his sour drink.

The bartender laughed. "Unless you want me to start calling you a smart-ass, I think I'll let you introduce yourself first, turian."

The soldier looked around. The fire was still bright in the encasement and the crimson floor reminded him of blood. No one was there save for the human and he, yet he felt oddly watched. Like there were other people interested in this small conversation being passed between the two men. It was an odd feeling, one that the turian didn't particularly feel comfortable with, yet the whole endeavor continued anyway. "The name is Garrus, Garrus Vakarian. And yours?"

The bartender took a long sip of his drink after blowing on it slowly. Once he had taken his fill, the human wiped his mouth with a napkin he had his pants pockets. To any turian, this gesture would imply arrogance in the human, yet oddly enough the gesture suited this human bartender and did not lean towards that in any way. "My name is Timothy Yates. But everyone here just calls me Tim."

Garrus looked to the human and smiled. _Everyone used to call me Archangel and look how well that turned out._ He looked into his glass and only saw his reflection. It pained him to see such a sorrow-filled image of himself, so he swirled the glass to gaze at something different. Sadly what came up was a very different turian face. Garrus darted his eyes up to look at the human, Tim. "So, Tim. What made you choose to name the bar the Moonshine Café, other than for the obvious alcoholic reference?"

Tim chuckled lightly before looking out across the bar table, gazing around the room. "You know, I really don't know."

The turian before him started laughing and raised a glass in response. "Hear, hear! Amen and all other human idioms to boot!" Garrus took a good chug of his lemony water before setting it down again, his throbbing head feeling less heavy now. "What is it with people and their insistent nature to plan everything? I mean, the whole universe doesn't run on a plan and it works just fine. I really don't understand our nature to 'plan'. To fix and check and fix and check and check and fix until we die. It all seems so trivial, so overdone, you know?"

"I understand you completely, my friend," replied Tim as he took a sip of his own drink. "I once followed all the rules, all the plans. It got me nowhere. Now I run a bar instead. It's funny how we feel like we know where our life is going and what's going to happen and then 'bam!' a road block. Quite funny how life works, we go around expecting one thing only to be handed something completely different."

Garrus nodded his head. "The only problem is that, being born in a plan-ridden society, you feel completely lost in situations where you are absent of one."

Tim put a hand on the turian's shoulder. "Do what I do, my friend: improvise." Garrus burst out laughing at that statement and had to hold himself against the counter to contain himself.

"Oh if I had a credit for every time I felt the same way," he replied once he had calmed himself sufficiently from the laughter. "But, you know... things never work out that way." His demeanor changed and his tone became flaccid, weak. There was a deeper hurt that Garrus was hiding and he would be damned if he let it out.

Tim noticed this hidden hurt as well and decided to change the subject to try and mix up the conversation. "What are you doing on this fine planet of Illium, Garrus?"

The turian thought about it for a moment, considering everything that had happened to him and where he was right now. Everything led to another thing and he really couldn't place one single reason for his entrance. "I could lie and tell you I heard all the way from Omega that this place was the hottest spot in the galaxy." Tim gave a wide grin at that. "But to be honest, I needed to get away. My skin was crawling from all the scum on Omega and I got sick of it. Needed somewhere refreshing, somewhere with nice beaches and loads of hot babes. Instead I came to the sparkling city of Illium. Oh well, at least the bar is here."

Not knowing whether that was a complement or not, Tim continued on his search into this turian known as Garrus Vakarian. "I can't help but notice you are wearing your battle armour, any specific reason?"

The turian gave a sarcastic grin, followed by an equally sarcastic quip. "I see you are wearing a bartender's outfit, yet clearly you are not all that you appear. Am I right in guessing this?"

Tim chuckled softly as he brought his glass to his lips. "Touché," he replied with a grin.

Garrus waited for Tim to finish his gulp of water before starting up the conversation again. "In all honesty, I suppose I like to wear it because it's so engrained in my psyche. I mean, look at that tree over there." Garrus directed his finger towards the balsam fir in the corner of the room. It was decorated with bright, spherical bulbs and warm red lights that hung along the branches. On the top was a golden star. "To any turian that's just a tree with petty decorations on it. But to a human, that's a symbol of peace on Earth – or something like that. Everything means something different to someone else. Just because I'm wearing armour doesn't mean I'm going to kill someone right now."

"Though you do feel like it, don't you?" Garrus found the remark quite hard hitting in its directness. Yet the more he thought about it, the more he realized it was true. All this pain, all this suffering had been caused by Sidonis. All this hatred stemmed back to him right now, unable to reconcile the betrayal. When it first happened he was shocked, unable to speak. The blood of his friends around him as they were picked off and killed one by one and... he could do nothing to stop it. It was just like Shepard all over again... just like Shepard.

Garrus shook his head and looked at the bartender with new eyes. He had not realized he had dozed off into his thoughts and the most appropriate thing he could think of to say was a simple, "Touché."

Tim finished his glass of water but Garrus had about half left. This was when Tim placed his glass in the sink and started to wash it. It was also when Tim decided to dig deeper into the turian soldier's real problems. "Who did it?"

Garrus looked up in confusion. "Who did what?"

"Who do you want to kill?" Garrus fumbled around with his words but nothing of substance came out. This brought only a sigh from Tim as he started to dry the cup. "Look, I know what you're feeling right now and I understand what you are going through, believe me. But you need to tell me what happened if you want me to help."

The turian could not speak, could not fathom what to say to this strange human. All that he could think of was that horrid murder, that almighty betrayal that burned inside his head for days and days causing him to lose sleep, food, even water just to faint and forget everything that had happened. It was all too much. Yet Garrus spoke about it anyway. "I was part of a group of mercenaries." Tim nodded and Garrus felt awkward in continuing, but continue he did. "It all started on Omega, finding pieces of information, finding Sidonis. We became a family, him and I. We went through some adventures, picked up more members and soon we were parading the galaxy, righting wrongs and helping those who were downtrodden. I did it all, I suppose, so that I could feel like a hero... you know? So I could feel like a friend of mine: Commander Shepard. Before Shepard died, I was part of his squad. Remember the Battle of the Citadel? I was there. Then he met his demise and I had no idea what I was to do with myself, how I could even operate without him... yet... I did."

Garrus cleared his throat after he took another sip of his drink. "So there I was joined by mercenaries of every size and shape, ready to be the heroes we never thought we would be. I suppose you could say it was foolish, but those times were some of the best in my life. Us ten members protecting and fighting for what we believed in. It was never easy, never simple, but that was the whole fun of it. Improvisation, as you call it. Me? I call it survival.

"Things got messy, as they always do in a story like this. Sidonis, the first to be part of our team and a brother to me, was enticed by a few mercs who were hunting us down. Let's just say everything starting going wrong from there. Sidonis would leave mysteriously, not return for days and be shady to everyone around him. I thought it was just him dealing with stress. He had almost been killed a few days prior and I had given him some time, thinking he needed it. How wrong I was. The whole plan went haywire. People started dying and pretty soon I was the only one left. I was alone. Standing in the middle of my dead members; my dead family, their blood running under my boots and I... I lost. I lost everything I was to Sidonis... I lost my friends, my family. I lost my pride, and I lost my one chance to feel like something I'm not." Garrus shook his head and gritted his teeth. "How I wish I could see that bastard and just squeeze his head off—"

"And you won't do that." The turian turned to the human who stood there before him, his hand on the turian's. "You will not kill him just yet. Trust me, Garrus Vakarian, that path only leads to more bloodshed. You will not feel satisfied with his death, with his demise. His blood will seem as trivial to you as all the alcohol you have just drunken. It will seem meaningless and will haunt you. Don't spend your life killing for just one man."

Garrus shrugged off the hand and clasped his glass with both now. "You don't understand, Tim. You don't understand what he did to me."

The bartender, Tim, sighed and coughed into his handkerchief. The room was dead silent, save the crackling of the embers in the fire pit that were soon to go out. The entire scene had weight to it. Real, tangible weight with an intensity that flooded through every part of the bar. At last, Garrus broke the silence by finishing his glass of water and tapping it against the bar counter. He looked up to Tim and then turned his gaze to the woman at the top of the stairs. There was the asari from before with a nightgown on. Her eyes looking intently at the turian. Images flashed through Garrus' head of another asari... Liara. It hurt to see those images and initially he revoked them... but then he let them be. Soon all the images of her and him fighting in battle, her crying over the dead, disappeared. Instead images of them laughing over drinks, dancing in clubs and playing poker on the Normandy remained. The real memories of happiness were still within Garrus and he treasured them more than anything else.

The turian soldier stood up and placed his credits on the table. Tim straightened and shook his head at the gesture, but the turian insisted. "You gave me a lot to think about and... you taught me to stop running away from my past. Running will do me no good. I suppose I have to find out what it's like to be a hero. I have to go back to Omega and find out what really lies there."

Tim gave a soft smile. "I hope you do, Garrus."

Garrus nodded and started to leave, but a few steps out he turned around and spied the asari female slowly walking down the stairs and approaching Tim. The whole scene was beautiful; the burning embers, the ease of her movements and the revelation that Garrus did not have to run anymore. Everything was so freeing. Garrus lifted his hand and waved at them both. "You take care of her Tim, she's good for you."

The bartender nodded as his asari friend drew close and he wrapped her in an embrace. With one arm he held her and with the other he waved his friend good bye. "Will I be seeing you anytime soon, Garrus Vakarian?"

The turian thought for a moment than gave a grin. "Maybe if I turn up on Illium again I'll pay you a visit. No promises though, okay?" Tim nodded which caused Garrus to give a little grin. "Next time you see me, however, I won't be Garrus Vakarian anymore. Instead, call me Archangel."

Nodding his head and waving goodbye Tim sent the turian out. "Merry Christmas, Archangel."

The door was open to the cool air outside and Garrus did not want to face it, but he knew that the true reconciliation with himself lay outside that door on the asteroid of Omega. In the end, he would be damned if he gave up the chance to be free again. One last glance at the café and the wave of a hand. "Merry Christmas to you too, Tim." With that, Archangel left the building.

Tim and Sarnia were left alone in the bar, the embers dying out and the lights soon to be shut off. The human turned to his asari lover and gave a soft smile. "Let's go to bed, shall we?" With that the couple walked up the stairs, hand in hand, to their bedroom. Once they reached the top floor Tim flicked off all the lights. All that remained was the simple balsam fir that stood at the edge of the bar, its golden star still shining brightly in the darkness.


	10. A Broken Telephone - A Diary Entry

**A Broken Telephone – A Diary Entry**

_4th of August, Galactic Date: 2180_

I think I am in love. Can this even happen to me? Me? A lonely human who joins a simple gang? I understand that I am new to this galaxy. It seems like yesterday I joined this gang, promised riches and wonders beyond my wildest dreams.

Humans are said to be gullible creatures when promised something new. Well, I'm as guilty of this as the next human. This life; running drugs, demanding our turf… it's just so much damn fun. I cannot believe anyone would throw this away, any of this! From running a small store on Earth to blasting away salarians on Illium, hell who would want to give this up?

Even the women are fantastic! Everything is new uncharted territory for humans! Kari laughs at me, tells me that they are all roses, all petals and all thorns. I laugh, how could someone like Junia have thorns? She is beautiful… far better than any human I've dated. The way she moves, its foreign, unknown and maybe that's the best part.

I talk with her and she responds to every "Hello," with "Oh, it's you." What does that mean? I'll be damned if I knew but it's different… thankfully, it's different. We've already been in bed together and let me tell you, once you touch an asari there is no going back! They please you in all the right ways. Turians cut, humans cheat, asari please. If I had a credit for every time I wanted to be near her, I'd be rich. No. Richer than rich. I'd be a fat cat on Illium, I'd be a turian politician, I'd be a salarian spy, I'd be a human computer genius, I'd be an asari's bitch. And you know what? I'm fine with that.

One foot in the lake and it is frozen. Oh well, might as well go all in.


	11. A Broken Telephone - A Note (iii)

**A Broken Telephone – A Note (iii)**

_25rd of January, Galactic Date: 2181_

Here I am Dargén, your humble salarian. The plan is being set in motion. The letter has been sent and it should be in the possession of the agent. Though I will not admit it publicly, I think this plan has merit. Every action we take against him seems to be working in our favour. It seems like he wants to get caught… possibly to escape life now that he realizes it is so futile to try to slip away from us.

I still don't see what you saw in him all those years ago. If it was a few years later I would have agreed wholeheartedly, however, inoculating a human this early in their discovery of the galaxy seems… foolish. Maybe that's why I am the second in command and you are our leader. Maybe you see things I cannot.

Your second orders have been completed as well. The body has been disposed, though with great hesitation. Were you sure that you wanted her removed? She would not have hindered our plans, would she? It just seems like a waste of a life, that's all, Dargén. Anyway, by this note on your terminal you know that everything is being set to your wishes. In a day we will have the codes in our hands. In a day we will remove the insubordinate human swine.

I will be by the base shortly where we will discuss this in full,

~ Syzeen Tysin


	12. Not a Penny for the Damned

**A/N: I've had way too much fun with this short story, I think it's criminal. I personally feel this one was the best one so far in the collection. Writing Sarnia again was just a blast. Man, do I love writing that asari and her perspective! A lot of cool stuff goes down in this story (or stories to be exact) so I won't keep you waiting. I'll be over here, grinning like an idiot.**

* * *

**Not a Penny for the Damned**

_14th of April, Galactic Date: 2184_

I tried not to go back, really I did. After leaving that place for the first time, I made certain I would not make good on my promise to return the following night. Then the day came and left, night arrived and I felt cold and lonely. Be it fate, the goddess or just sheer luck, that all my friends were busy that night. So where did I go? To that damn cafe.

Then I went the next night and the next night and the next night. I would come up with bizarre reasons to enter that dingy place. Contrived, completely whacked reasons. Sometimes it was because I just 'happened to be in the neighbourhood'. Sometimes it was because my friends wanted a good bar to go to and we just 'happened to stumble upon the Moonshine Cafe'. Then there was that one time that I flipped a coin and the damn thing said not to go. But I flipped it again 'cause of, you know, the wind and shit. In the end, I think I gave up my reasons on not going. Maybe the bartender drugged me. Yes, that must be it. It was a drug... the drug of a lonely asari.

I would always enter in the same. It would be around ten o'clock and the fire would be roaring away in the background. Sometimes I would spot Mr. Saxophone playing the blues, other times I would spot shady characters who knew Tim for this and that reason. I once saw a young boy, about the age of fifteen, with a pop-can in hand by the window. A soda pop, I tell you! I never thought they had something like that in a place like this, but there the kid was; staring out the window on a cold night in Illium. That gaze... ice cold. Anyway, I'm starting to get carried away here.

When walking through the door Tim would always turn his head, give a quick smile and say, "How do you do, Miss T'Hypola?" That goofy grin, it was always that goofy, toothy grin that caused me to smile. I was so dense! It was like those human movies where the girl just crosses her legs and blushes at the dashing hero. It was all a cliché and nothing bothered me more than following such a tired trope as that!

So I would sit at the furthest end of the counter after saying my typical, "Doing well, Mr. Tim." I would never dare to speak his last name, that would be far too proper and then people would actually start thinking I was flirting. Ridiculous I'm telling you, I was absolutely mad! Anyway, at the end of the counter he would always find me; a mug in his hand and a towel in the other. Once he twirled the glass between his fingers and tossed it in the air. He caught it behind his back then threw it back over his shoulder and into his towel hand, catching it easily and nimbly. When I first saw this I was amazed. "How did you do that?" I pondered aloud, probably sounding like a dumbstruck idiot by this bartender's party tricks.

Tim smiled that same old grin. "A clown walked into this bar one day, he looked a bit down and I declined his offer for a drink. God, he was so mad when I did that. He punched me right in the jaw!"

This embellished story was already too much for me, so I decided to play along. "No!" I cried out sarcastically, feeling pretty good about the tone of my cry.

"Yes," smiled Tim smoothly, not even affected by the withering sarcasm on my lips. "In fact, he was ready to cuff me again, but I passed him a cup of my famous hot lemon water. It soothed that troubled clown right down. My, my, the poor soul started crying too. Lost his son, you see, in a terrible legal battle with his estranged asari wife. She was a nasty bitch he went on to say, claiming that he slept with whores and the other circus performers while she was away with the kid. In fact, the man never quit the circus business because his son got so much enjoyment from it". By then he was having doubts, that I can tell you."

I started to feel for the clown. I knew the feeling of being wronged by a lover before and I could relate to the troubled soul. To this day I o not understand how I could possibly be such a sap towards Tim's story, how I could get so involved in the spinning of his tale. He was like an Earth spider, spinning that endless web until it caught all who flew by. Many would call him a magician, a weaver, a storyteller, I would call him crazy. Now? I'm not sure as to what I'd call him. "So," I asked, slower this time. "What happened? Did you fix his problem all gung-ho?"

Tim was filling up my glass with coffee and was looking very intently at it. At last he was done and he placed it before me. He brought out milk and sugar from under the counter and, once all the necessary devices were out before me, he spoke. "I couldn't. I guess that's what the most painful part about my life is. I can listen to everyone's tales, but I cannot directly interfere or help them. It... it hurts to be caught on the sidelines. To be an observer rather than a player." He shook his head. "I digress. The sad clown then spoke to me, asked me what to do. I told him the honest answer. I said that he had to go and find out what he wanted to live for. I explained that he had lived for his son and now that was being taken away from him. He had to evaluate what he wanted most in his life. Did he want his son, his job, fulfilment? It all came down to what he desired and how he would get it."

"What did he say it was?" I quarried.

Tim shrugged. "Never found out. I had my suspicions but the old clown said that he needed to figure it out on his own. He never came back either, left his cup empty of alcohol like it had been when he entered in." Tim started to walk away and he left me alone for a bit sipping my coffee as he talked to other patrons. His movements, the flow of his body was so graceful. The way he held himself was done with such ease, he was a man that nothing could penetrate. Maybe he was smoking something illegal to get that chill, I mean, who can possibly be that cool?

At last, halfway through my cup, he returned to me. "Coffee good?" he wondered aloud.

I nodded. "Divine."

He smirked at that. "You know, I'm not being entirely truthful about my story though." I raised a brow. "I did eventually find out what the clown wanted most with his life. One day while opening the bar I got an old-fashioned letter from a friend of mine. This friend specializes in the delivery of letters and packages like in the days of old Earth. Anyway, he gave me this envelope that was bright yellow, the same colour as the old clown's bow tie. I opened it up quite quickly, I remember; very interested in the contents of what the bright envelope contained. I found, to my surprise, a letter on blue parchment. Apparently the clown had found a job as a bank manager with the help of a volus who needed some 'multi-cultural members' at the front desks. He took the job and presented it to the court in opposition to his wife's claims. Turned out he won favourably in the jury's eyes and he was given his son back. I actually have the picture that he sent with me still." Out of the bartender's black dress pants came the picture. It was just as he had said: a clown and a boy. "I still look at it when I'm down. Kinda puts everything into perspective, doesn't it?" I looked to the human curiously. Was he comparing me to the clown? Was he asking me what I personally wanted in my life? Tim was sly, but I didn't know him to be this devious. To be completely frank, it only made me more interested in him. Which, the more I think about it, sounds completely childish now that I've said it.

He took the picture and placed it back in his pocket, continuing on with his duties as the patron of the bar. Many a day I wondered how he could operate such a place all by himself. He must have had help, hadn't he? The thought consumed me as I continued with my coffee. One man could not possible know this many people and still run a bar every day. The thought was just insane. Then again, Tim was insane. You may think it odd, but the human male was the craziest person I had ever met. No, not insane like loony. Not crazy like he would go and murder a million people just for fun. He was crazy because he was so different that he rivalled natural law. Such a man as he couldn't exist, shouldn't exist. Such interpersonal people were a rarity in my life. I suppose finding such a flamboyant man who was both calm and cool came as a shock to me.

I studied his choice of dress after I pondered the operation of the bar. All he wore was a flabby and wrinkled white button-down. The top button was always undone and sometimes I could peek at an undershirt beneath it. His pants were black and crisp, unlike his top. A belt was around his waist; a golden buckle the only colour on his whole body. His shoes? Black and scuffed. It came as a shock, really. A golden belt buckle and pressed pants, but scuffed shoes? Now this human was a rarity and I debated on his outward appearance for the rest of the night.

He noticed me staring at him. There was some snarky or snide grin he gave me at his realization and I quickly threw my head away so that I could look elsewhere in the room. He chuckled and grinned all the same. I think a few others might have noticed our little encounter and started to laugh as well. _Great, just great. Now I have a reputation for hitting on this human!_ I thought grimly. _He must do this with all the females. Woos them till they are so weak-kneed that they drop to the floor, and then he scoops them up, carries them to his bed, and leaves them there in the morning. And they say chivalry is dead, heh!_

"You know," he said after a moment had passed and I had fallen into a trance. "This belt buckle was given to me by an old carpenter. These pants I got from an old lover who left me a long time ago. I press them in memory of all the good times we had." As he walked away my eyes bulged and I gave a smirk. I knew it! I knew that he had other... wait, what had he said? It dawned on me what his comment was and I instantly felt foolish for even considering the idea of multiple females. Tim looked over his shoulder and saw me pondering over him. This time there was no goofy grin, only a soft nod of his head. _That man_, I thought as I shook my head. _That man, oh man oh man._

After the bar had started to close down I was, as per usual, the last one left. I paid my tab and started to leave, but his voice turned me around. "Wait!" he called out, as he was washing some glasses. "Just wait there for a moment, just a quick moment!"

I waited for him to finish washing the cups. I waited as he placed them in order and made everything neat and organized. I waited and did not get agitated. I'm not a patient person, you see, so the very fact that Tim could make me wait there was quite an accomplishment. Not that that is really important to the moment or anything, it's just part of the bigger story.

"So?" I wondered as he drew near. His shirt was half tucked in and, though some would consider the image 'messy', it oddly suited him.

"How has the job hunting been lately?"

I bit my lip. Regretting now that I ever had told him that I was laid off a few weeks ago, I tried to change the subject. "Well, it's as good as any on Illium, I suppose. How many charming females do you ask this question to Tim? I'm sure you're a hit with all the ladies on the job market. I bet they all wear grey suits and flashy ties—"

"Sarnia," he spoke rather sternly yet still with the same softness as before. "Tell me the truth."

I sighed and looked around the room for an exit. But I suddenly realized it was right behind me. I should have ducked out. I should have run off but... I didn't. If I had run, I guess I wouldn't have had these stories. That in itself could have been the greatest mistake I had ever made. But it wasn't. "I can't find anything. No one wants to hire an asari in a place where asari are common. The best I can find is prostituting for some sleazy idiot by the old pub a few blocks down."

Tim shook his head, his lips pursed. "I keep telling that owner that he would sell twice as many drinks for every woman he didn't abuse in that place. Ah well, what can you do with horny men?"

I looked to Tim and found immense kindness in his face. I also found a deep determination, for what I did not know. Was he trying to hit on me? Flirt with me? Oh no, the incorruptible Tim would never do that! Would he? "What's on your mind, bartender?" I asked mischievously. If he wanted fun then he only needed to ask. Ask and get slapped so hard his toothy grin would go flying across the room. Damn, why can't men be straightforward with what they want? I guess it's for the same reason that we females can't be straightforward with either.

"I really don't know how to ask this. It's really a personal question and I'm not one to—"

I groaned. "Just spit it out, Tim." He seemed to smile at my comment, which I found immeasurably odd. This guy like punishment or something?

"The past few weeks have been tough. A few years ago it was easy to operate this bar." Oh no, what was he thinking...? "Folks would come in and I could give them their drinks no problem." Was he? No, that would be... maybe? No, that is too... "The place was less busy than it is now. So I thought... well, I wondered since I was getting pretty lonely..." Lonely? Oh my, was he going to ask me that question! What would I have to do? Well I could possible slap him in the face, punch him in the gut. I know a good place to hide... "Would you like to work here?"

Work here? That was what he was asking me? I admit I had been completely distracted by other motivations. I had assumed that he was just like every male who fawned over females. That he was a sucker for the double X-chromosomes just like so many of them are. But in the end his intentions were pure and that... well, that shocked me to the core. "I... well... I don't know what to say."

"I'll pay you fairly. I know that a good price to start at seems to be about twenty or so credits an hour..." Twenty! Most hard paying jobs on Illium gave you fifteen an hour, not twenty! Was this a con? Was he trying to swindle me dry? The more I thought about it, the more I wondered about his motivations, the more I realized his pure intentions. I could only answer him with one simple phrase.

"Sure, I guess. Who knows? Could be fun."

He smiled that same goofy smile. "Yes. It will be plenty of fun."

That was how I started working at the Moonshine Cafe as a waitress. He asked me, oh roughly around November 6, 2183. The very next day I started to wait tables and bring drinks to customers. I thought I would hate it, despise the life. But it brought a new calm to me. It brought tranquillity and an ease I had not found it years. I found myself on the verge of change and... I was scared. Like a puppy stepping onto new ground, like a cat before water. I trembled at the thought of this new lifestyle. Yet there was Tim, smiling away from behind the circular counter in the bar. How could I say no? How could I leave him? How could I rebuke the change? Sticking through those months of worry was probably the greatest thing I did for myself. If I could go through those years again I would not change a thing.

And so, a few months passed. I waited tables, brought drinks to customers and got money to boot. In the beginning, I would finish early and leave him to closing up. But once the Christmas season started to get into swing and Tim asked me to put up his tree... well, let's just say it became our tradition for me to stay every night an extra hour after closing. That bar became my second home; a safe haven for me away from the cold nights of Illium. Safety... what a weird term. So distant and unimaginable in those days, yet perfect to describe how I am today.

The days blended into weeks and those into months. The work I did for that little cafe was meagre at first; only washing tables and helping Tim behind the counter. But then I saw something odd happen. The bar started getting more customers. It started to fill in. Word got out and soon whole loads of people were entering the cafe. The second floor veranda(the small space that had a few tables) was completely refurbished to fit more people. Everything was changing and though the change was for the customers, it never effected the atmosphere of the bar. Never once did I see those carpets change, the fire go out, or the railings leading up to the second floor disappeared. Maybe it was due to Tim's old-fashioned nature, though I like to think I had a bit of voice on the matter as well.

In this time, people wanted their drinks served to them quicker and our original model of allowing people to come up to the circular bar and sit down again wasn't working. Thus I became the only waitress for the bar, the customers waiting until I went over and asked them about their preferences. It was odd, especially when Tim denied getting holographic menus that could feed people's orders straight to him. He wanted to be... classy, as he called it. After one closing night he told me how on Earth in the twenty-first Century, this was the common model. I could never understand his desire to become like the past, to pay homage to things before his time. Now? I wouldn't trade the system we have for the world.

And as time went by, I realized the date had become February 25, 2184 before my eyes. This was a pivotal day in my life, so I don't suppose you would have a problem with me talking about it. Would you? Thought as much.

It started just like any other day. I woke up, got dressed, and walked out of my apartment, down the stairs onto the street. I had keys to the bar's backdoor, but I always took the scenic route through the front. I dunno, just added to the mystique I suppose. Anyway, I opened the door to find Tim that was already setting up shop. I would always come at seven o'clock, and every morning he would be there. I don't think he had missed his timing once since I had been with him. Maybe that one time... but then again, I had some 'help' with that. But Tim and I had barely even glanced at each other in that respect and I had assumed he did not feel for me in that way. Besides, how incredibly rude would it be for me to push myself on him? Yes, I had been dealt a hand and I wanted to see how the flop went, to use a poker analogy. Tim taught me once and... wait, where was I going with this again?

The shop opened at eight o'clock sharp and the rest of the day followed through in its natural course. People came in, they sat down, I went over and asked for their drinks, I rushed over to Tim to place the order, waited, then received the drinks and gave it to the table. Rinse and repeat for a few hours and you've got a pretty solid idea of what it was like. Though I didn't mind it all that much. To be honest, I don't mind it at all to this day. This is... oh, what did Tim call it... his... calling, yes calling is the word. I am pretty much in the same boat as he is. This is my life and I enjoy it quite well.

But not all things are sweet, I'm afraid. As time passed one particular person entered the bar. He was of human decent, as were most of our patrons at that time, and he had had a drunken air about him. Though I was surprised that someone would come already intoxicated to a bar, I shrugged it off. Tim's magic rule of not throwing out anyone still remained in my head.

The day progressed into night and still the man remained. He had drained four or five ounces of scotch, some horrid Earth alcohol that tasted like shit, and was sitting at a table by himself with his legs spread wide. The store was closing in a few minutes and I asked Tim what I should do with the man by the table. "Did he want another drink?" asked Tim nonchalantly.

I sighed and rolled my eyes. "Tim, are you that blind?"

He peeked up over the counter, he was putting away clean glasses you see, and looked at me again. "Sorry Sarnia, don't see your point." I felt like hitting him over the head. So I contended to flicking him with my finger. He mocked the pain and raised himself to full height. "Alright, alright I kid. Look, I don't know. I won't throw him out onto the street, that's for sure. The poor man could have lost a wife—"

"With the way he's sitting?" I reposed to his statement.

He shrugged. "Fine then, his son. I just don't want to tread on any soft subjects with the man." I looked to him in wallowed agony and he replied with that simple smile. "You can always just ask if he's done with his glass and would like to leave. Don't be forceful, but if he's bothering you then you can say that the bar is closing soon." Tim never talked down to me. Though out of context his words may seem like he was talking to a small child, he never treated me as such. We were equals among equals and he valued every inch of my feelings.

So I nodded and decided to present the statement to the man by the table. I walked over as I usually did, slowly and gracefully. "Done with your drink?" I asked as politely as I could.

The man gave this awful grin that showed his teeth. I could suppose that he hadn't brushed them in days. I can still remember how his breath smelled, even though that was a few months ago. "No lov'," he said in this thick, gruff accent. "I'm jus' fine. Fill 'er up, me deary." This was one sick son of a bitch, mind you, so I do congratulate myself on keeping my cool.

"Look, sir," I said a tiny bit more forcefully than before. "The bar is closing in a few minutes. I was wondering if you could leave, unless there is something we can help you with."

He spat into his glass and lifted it to me. Sighing with the action, I took the glass from his hand and started to walk away. However, the hand that gripped my thigh and threw me onto his lap caused me to instantly drop the glass th toe floor. The poor thing smashed into a dozen pieces. It was the first time I had ever broken anything at the bar. "Look, ma'be you can 'elp with som'thing lov'." His other hand whipped around and held me there, despite me trying to throw myself off of him. "It's been lonely fer the past few days. And, well, ma'be we can 'ave some fun together. What'cha say lov'? Care to see me baby boy?"

I slapped him right there. Not for the crude remark, it was partially that, but because I wanted his mouth shut to stop the putrid steam that came out of it. I had seen human foreplay before and it didn't faze me now. What did faze me was his forcefulness. "Let go!" I yelled in his face. This only caused the sick bastard to smile more.

"Aw, lov'. You won't be sayin' that a'ter I'm don' with you."

I was horrified, unable to move in his grasp. I screamed and yelped, hoping someone was near, but that hand came across my mouth and held it shut. It was only then that my rescue came. "I would like to ask you to let go of her." Tim was standing before us, his hands resting by his sides casually and the towel draped over his shoulder.

"Ya?" probed the drunken man. "What'cha got to say about me helpin' meself to me property?"

Tim's face twitched slightly and his hands started to tighten. "I'm not asking you again, sir. Please leave." There was something I had not seen about Tim before. His tone, his stance. It was unnatural for Tim; this man I had come to know so well. Never before had I heard his voice so rigid and cold. Never again did I want to hear it that way.

The man enjoyed Tim's statement all the more. "Who do you t'ink you are, buddy?"

Tim in a monotonous voice: "Her friend."

The man laughed outrageously, possibly too loudly for a human to laugh. His gaze shifted, his eyes mad and wild. He threw me aside and stood himself up. I crashed onto the floor and rolled under the table. It was knocked over quickly and I scrambled to get onto my two feet. I heard the sounds of grunting and impacts. My head turned and I saw Tim throwing punches at the man, knocking him in the jaw, chest, and finally nose. There was a sharp crack of bone as the man flew backwards, his nose crunched up into a painful shape and blood pouring from it. One rapid punch to the gut was all the man needed before he tumbled out of the bar, his legs over his head, onto the streets.

Tim shut the door, locked it, and stared outside the door for a few seconds. In that moment, there was a sickening silence. Everything was still. Nothing could possibly move. It was then that Tim turned around and gave me his goofy grin. I was standing now and I returned the smile, but that quickly faded at the sight of Tim's shirt stained a bright red.

I rushed to him, tripping slightly on the overturned table, and went to his side. He was a bit groggy and I needed to help him down. Tim saw the wound as well and chuckled. "Looks like I'm a bit rusty in the fighting department."

I did not ask him to explain, nor did I particularly want to know. I rushed to the first aid kit in the corner of the bar and placed it on a table. A few swabs of a disinfectant and medi-gel started to clear the wound up quickly. "You didn't have to do that," I stated, monotone. He really didn't. Though I was thankful, I could handle myself. I didn't need some human to save me.

He laughed. "Tell me that next time some ass-hole is trying to rape you. I can guarantee that if there is any shred of mistruth in that, I will wilfully ignore it and save you again."

I felt like slapping him, but this time I didn't. Why was I so defensive? Why did I not want to be saved? Who did I think I was? This moment caused me to reflect on myself, on who I was as a person. I hated it, though I often thank Tim for saving me now. He always responds with that goofy smile. "Well," I said, feeling defensive, "thanks." I stood up then, wanting to leave, but his firm grasp wrapped itself around my wrist.

"You okay? You were just in a very hairy situation back there and I want to make sure you are alright."

I pulled away. "Why do you care?" I questioned harshly. "No one has ever cared about me before, except when my body is involved. What makes you so damn different?" He didn't say anything, just stared at me with an expressionless face. "Well?" I asked again, my tone even harsher. But it was in that moment that Tim stood up, looked at me for three good, long seconds, and then kissed me.

My eyes went wide with shock, my body dazed, my mind confused. Yet... it was all so natural. Weird, I know. I am still getting over the feeling myself. All I can say is that the kiss was genuine. Real. Damn, I'm sounding like an idiot. I'll skip over to the next bit for you.

We separated and I felt a bit flustered. I didn't know what to think and... I guess that scared me. Frightened me to death, even. Tim just looked at me, his smile widely evident on his face. "A bit too cliché?" he asked humorously. I chuckled and nodded my head.

"A bit too, knight in shining armour for me," I replied grinning.

He shrugged. "Well, my 'fair maiden' helped me with my battle wounds, how else could I repay her?"

My eyes widened. "You could have given me some damn warning before you gave me your 'repayment'."

Tim looked around coyly and shrugged, saying: "Okay, here's a warning." Then he kissed me again and this time I did not resist. To save you from the vomit-inducing, gushy details, let's just say something clicked. I guess that's why I'm still here to this day, passing around beers and sipping coffee. It all started with a cup of coffee. I never knew my life to be a cliché, but you know what? I'm fine with it. I'm completely fine.

That night, he offered me a spare room on the second floor with him. He 'claimed' that he was tired of me walking home alone and had decided to take matters in his own hands. "Wouldn't want any rascals trying to get at you now, would we?"

I smirked, continuing to play his little game. "Oh no!" I laughed and chanted. Taking that offer of the spare room was quite possibly the best decision I had ever made. Well, to be honest, it was the second best decision I ever made. The best decision came later in my life, but that's a story for another day.

Now, can I get you something to drink? No? What do you want? A friend of Tim's? No, I don't think he mentioned your name. I'm pretty sure he'd mention a friend of his who was a red-battle armoured krogan. You want me to go get him? Ok, but how about having something to drink? Gone off drinking? My friend, then why are you in a bar for goddess' sake! Fine, fine, I'll go get him now.

Thank you? For what? Ah yes, the story. It was not trouble. Tim often says that I need to open up more and, though it's difficult for me at the moment, I am trying. Do I love him? Well how about I get you to ask him because, honestly hon, if you don't know by now then you obviously weren't paying attention to my story.


	13. A Broken Telephone - A Video Log

**A Broken Telephone – A Video Log**

_24th of January, Galactic Date: 2181_

There is static. From the black lines flash to form a face: an asari. Her gaze is shifting, worried, broken. Tired and worn from the countless days awake, she starts typing on the keyboard. A signal breaches the top of the screen and a video recorder is displayed on her desktop. "Who would have thought I would have used this thing, eh? My stupid mother giving me this device to do some stupid ass diary for future records. But... I need to talk and this seems like the only way to do so."

She sighs, looks around for a moment before returning to the screen. The video software starts to record.

"Hello... me, I suppose. You can probably see how tired I am. Maybe you don't remember this time, maybe you do but... oh goddess, what have I done? This job, this gang, it was all suppose to be easy. Kill a few thugs, rob a few citizens. It was suppose to be quick and simple. Now the world is collapsing around me. The walls are slick with blood and I want out. But I can't. Not until he dies. Not until my lover, Akio Mann, dies.

"Oh how putrid those words sound on my lips. My 'lover'. How quaint. How trivial. How tripe. How vile, despicable, evil, resounding, sounding a bell of hell to the dawn of my peace with the... the... damn it all!

"You see me now, wet with tears, stricken with guilt over some loathsome human. Humans, so new to this galactic stage. We are all on this stage, thrust out to sing a song before our heads roll into the laps of the Council. It's all a lie. A lie to keep us safe. Morality isn't grey. It isn't black or white or green or red or blue or violet or orange or any shitty colour on a damned sign! It's you. A mirror before you. The glass on the floor from the mirror. Stained with blood from your fist. That is your picture of the world.

"Playing that poor bastard's lover haunts me to this day. I can only hope, from wherever you are watching this, that I have been cleansed from this act. I guess I was right when I said I wanted to leave this place. He said that if he had the means, he would take me away, promised me the universe in his palm. Too bad those means will cost him his life. No. I have not only betrayed Akio, but my gang. Twice a betrayer, always a crook.

"Junia T'Delan out."

The video feed shuts off. The asari places her head in her hands and cries.


	14. A Broken Telephone - A Tab

**A Broken Telephone – A Tab**

_25th of January, Galactic Date: 2181_

Illium Cleaning Company (ICC) Tab Services

Order Number: 2KK0

Priority: High

Number in cue: Third

For pick up:

- Shine: pair of black leather shoes

- Repair: rips in white, long sleeved button-up shirt cuffed with black lining

- Wash: blood off of white, long sleeved button up shirt cuffed with black lining

- Order: solid black tie

- Wash: mud stains on knees of solid black pants

- Repair: shoulder and underarm seams on black suit jacket

Request for pick up: In store

Card number: X33-889-H657-1112

Card owner: Junia T'Delan

Pick up by: ########## - Council Authorized Information: Unable to record recipient

Estimated time for pick up: January 26, Galactic Date: 2181

Cost: 500 credits

_Thank you for using the ICC automated tabbing system._

_Please enjoy your stay on Illium, Specter Nihlus._


	15. An Eye for an Eye (Act 2)

**An Eye for an Eye (Act 2)**

_I didn't know what to think of the boy, specter. My thoughts were of how young he was, how ashamed that I was to be his killer. In all my years of assassinations I have avoided the young, tried to avoid them from my killings. Sometimes innocents get in the way and any good assassin realizes that he must not have any loose ends. When I look at this boy however..._

_I can remember every detail of his face staring back up at me. It was those blue eyes I remember the most, begging for mercy and at the same time, asking to be set free. The hanar trained to kill, to be merciless in your conviction. Amonkira, the lord of the hunt, tells me that a quarry wasted is another two gained. But here... I hesitated. However this hesitation was only a momentary relapse. I closed my eyes, feeling the gun in my hand and I..._

_...pulled the trigger._

* * *

_15th of July, Galactic Date: 2183_

The boy squirms under me and screams out. It is not in pain, but fear. His eyes open, one blue sphere at a time. His eyes scan my face and look at the angle of the gun. His eyes follow the smoking barrel and spy where the round entered the floor, merely a few centimetres from his head.

"You have a minute," I say as I holster the weapon into my cloak. "Start talking."

My weight lifts from his chest and I look down on the boy. Light filters through the blinders, streaming thin lines of colour across the room. White light interrupted by red, blue, green, and yellow. To some it is a rainbow. To a trained assassin as myself, it is the colour of our target's blood.

"W... who are you?" the boy asks. It is a typical question to ask before you die. Unfortunately it is the response I do not wish to give.

My hand connects with his face and a bit of blood and spit splashes across the back of my hand. "If I wanted to know who I was, I wouldn't have asked you." The boy slowly faces me again, unable to stop the blood that is starting on his split lip. I start to wish I had not been so harsh on him.

"Fine." The boy spits on the floor. His pride is still with him, he thinks he's a strong one. Pity soars in my throat, threatening to choke me. "I am Tony, Tony Malone to the uninitiated." The term is not foreign to me. Gangs like this are common.

"Who do you work for, Tony?" I ask calmly. This boy might not be part of the group I am hunting; I do not want him involved if he is an innocent.

The boy looks like he does not wish to answer, but eyes where I placed my gun in my cloak. "I work for the syndicate Zodiac." My lips press into a fine line; this was what I had feared. The Zodiac was the gang my employer wanted me to take out. How can I kill this boy? Is he even a boy?

"How old are you?" I question again, tying to detect any sign of weakness to prove his innocence.

The boy licks his lips, looks around and grimaces. "Twenty two." He is very young indeed. This statement causes me to consider numerous alternatives. If this boy is young, can he be broken? Can I find my new target and the device all at once? Could this be my chance to spare him?

"Do you know of a salarian named Syrnen?" The boy looks at me curiously and shakes his head. I grimace. How could he not know about the salarian? Is it possible that the leader of his organization has gone anew? Could this salarian be dead already? Then the contract becomes clear to me again. I skim over the contract in my mind but turn up empty. I inwardly curse.

The boy's eyes bulge. "Do you mean Leo?" Leo? The name is not familiar to me and I pause to think about it for a moment. Could 'Leo' and Syrnen be the same target? It is plausible, still I don't want to take any chances.

I stand and pick up the boy with boy my hands. I walk to a wall and smash him against the wooden bulk. Fear courses through the boy's eyes. Fear of death, fear of life, fear of his life in my hands. Poor kid. "Where is your base? Where does this 'Leo' reside?" The boy cannot speak, he is flustered and my imposing nature scares him. Why do they think that at twenty, a boy like this can handle himself?

"Cancer?" he questions, angrily, but softly enough so that he might not invoke my rage. I nod to his question, hoping to get something out of it. "No, I won't tell you. Leo would have my balls if I ever told you that."

I grimace. If the kid wants to play tough then I can do that. No target ever escapes my grasp anymore. "Tell me where he is, Tony. I will spare you if you do."

The boy shuffled in my grasp. "Why do you even want to find Leo? Are you an assassin hired for him? I bet you are. You were the one who killed our informant earlier, the drell bastard I was sent to dispose of—"

My eyes grow wide. "Your syndicate knew about my location?"

The human grits his teeth, barred like a gate before me. I hate having to force information out of my targets, so I decide to smash my fist into his stomach as lightly as I can. The jab causes the human to gag, but does not wind him. It is an easy warning, one that I will not repeat if my question goes unanswered. "We... we could track the gun signature back to this place. The readings match here." Frequency. Now there is something I forgot to calibrate into my calculations on the target. I make a mental note to change that tactic when I am done here. He eyes me suspiciously. "You're doing a deal here, right?"

I throw him across the room onto the floor. His back collides with the ground. There is a loud thud as he cries out in sudden pain. My pistol flies out from my coat again, my thoughts oddly formed and coherent. Now they know my location, regardless if their guess as to why is false. Though the initial ploy has failed, another springs into my head. This contract will not be in vain. I always get my target. "Boy—"

"It's Tony," he spits as he slowly lifts his upper half from the ground.

I ignore his remark and continue on, feeling slightly sorry for the young human. "I have a proposition for you." This causes the human's brow to lift and causes me to smirk. "I have been assigned to kill your leader, whether his name is Leo or Syrnen." My gait starts around the room, my pistol always on the target. "One has come before me and failed." This comment sparks the interest of the boy, it does not spark mine. "Your gang is now on edge because of my first assassination. That was to be a momentary distraction, not a deliberate pretense to my actual arrival." I stop walking, the slivery light cascading around my poised body. "This is where you come in. My target is nervous, having realized that someone wants to kill him. I need you to complete the deed."

This grants me the full attention of the boy, his eyes turning into tight slits. "Why would you assume I would do such a thing, lizard-boy?"

The name does not sting, does not even penetrate. It is a futile attempt at a riposte. "My precursor was part of your syndicate for six or seven years. She was assigned the role in the last year of that time. Under the alias of Felicia, she was to kill your leader." The human's eyes bulge and his face contorts.

"Bullshit!"

I turn to face him directly. "I assure you, it is not. I took great pains to gain information for my predecessors. Direct contact with the target will not end well, especially in a confined space. The room needs to be open, secure—"

"You're lying to me!" shouted the boy. "She died on an Aries Run, Kane was there, and he promised me she died!" Kane? Another name that is foreign to my ears. It does not concern me however, what does is that I have planted doubt in the boy's mind. Part of me wishes there was another way, but considering the last assassin's luck I need any advantage I can get. Besides, the boy needs redemption for his crimes and I am only supplying it.

"Are you so sure?" Now the doubt is realized and the boy looks to the ground. The seed has been planted, all that is left is water. "My proposition remains. But I will allow you a chance to find answers for yourself." This seems to lighten the boy's face, or is it the presence of a low flying hover car? "Unless you meet me here two days from now at this time unarmed and alone, I shall take it as your decline of this deal. However, know that if you do, your fate will be the same as Syrnen's."

The boy licks his lips, confused and contrived in his conviction. Pity runs through me, I have placed doubt in everything that he is and everything that he has trusted. No one likes their perfect reflection broken before them. "I'll take up your offer," he replies gruffly after a moment of thought. My pistol remains in my hand as he stands and slowly saunters over to the door. He makes no motion towards his own weapon. There is dampness in the air, whether it is a sign of rain or cleansing I do not know. But the boy seems to recognize it as well, for he is drenched in sweat and his hormones are sweet.

"Make it one day. I'll be back in a day." This grants a nod from me, my pistol still level with his heart. At last he exits the room after opening the door. He leaves without another sound as rain slowly starts to patter down and the door is left ajar.

* * *

_Specter, I know you may be angry with my actions, but know they are of the purest intentions. I waited for the boy on the second level of the bar, keeping a watch on all exits and entrances. If the boy was to betray me, I would know it before he even opened the door._

_The answer to the next most logical question you ask, why I gave him a chance, is obvious. I do not kill the innocent, Specter, I do not even harm civilians if they are in my way. My gods promise great rewards for those who are patient, those who wait in the shadows to eliminate the unjust. I would rather not involve those who live in the light. This boy did not. He lived on the edge of a cliff with light at the top and darkness at the bottom. I extended my hand to bring him closer to the top._

_How successful was it?_

_Is it only numbers to you, Specter? If so, then my answer will be binary. But if you allow me to explain myself further then there is much more story to be told._

* * *

The day is old by the time the boy walks through the double doors. I am standing in a corner of the bar. Shadows drape over my crossed form, eyes dart around the room. No one else has been seen coming in, no suspicious characters who may or may not be with him. He doesn't notice me, a factor in my favour for the moment. He looks around, sighs deeply, then sits down at the rounded bar counter. I wait for a few minutes, making sure that this boy will not betray my position. Once I am certain of his legitimacy, I begin my gait towards him, my hands grasped behind my back.

His head cocks left and spies my sauntering form. A quick smile brushes across his lips. "There you are," he says, his speech slightly slurred. "I was wondering if you would show up." I pick a seat at the counter. It is a few seats away from the boy so he will have to move over if our conversation is to be intimate. I will not leave my spot. My back is to the stairs so that I will be able to hear anyone entering from the second floor. Under the stairs is a wall and out of the corner of my left eye I can see the other emergency exit, therefore I am facing the only exits. No one can surprise me in this position. "So?" he asks after a moment. "What do you want with me?"

"Did you find what you sought?" I reply through pursed lips. The boy snorts and turns back to his glass. A flick of his wrist sends the liquid spiralling around the sides, the soft clicking of ice on glass.

"I wanted answers," spoke the boy after a moment. "I wanted to know what was going on. I needed to know if anyone knew about this... if... if your damn claims could be reasoned!" He had found something, I am sure of it. His voice wouldn't waver if he hadn't. He wouldn't have returned if he had not found evidence that added to his doubt.

I know that waiting for him to sort out his thoughts would take too much time. I decide to probe him with another question. "Who did you seek? A friend?"

The boy takes a moment to think. I am starting to doubt if his cautious speech is stalling. Has he betrayed me? "A friend, turian, named Kane. He and I go way back. He was with Leo when his gang took over my old one-"

"You are not from his gang originally?"

The boy licks his lips and waves over the bartender. The human, dressed in a clean white shirt, sees the hand and walks over, picking up a bottle on his way. He reaches the boy in no time, pouring his cold drink and giving a warm smile as a reply. The boy only utters, "Thanks Tim," before continuing to drink. The bartender spies me, his smile widens.

"Can I get you anything, Yalen?" Yalen is a common name in drell culture. I told him the name when I first took the room and since then no one has suspected the lie, only those who have mastered the art of speech may possibly pick up on my falsehood, however it is unlikely. The bartender is not one of these people; he accepted my name openly without any suspicious thought.

I shake my head and follow the retreating bartender with my eyes. Once he has left the vicinity, I turn my gaze back to the boy before me. He notices my wanting eyes and sighs. "No, I was not originally from my current gang. About two years ago, the Zodiac (Leo's gang) popped up. My original leader caved, saw the potential to be part of something greater. Ever since then Leo has watched over me, looked out for me. He's like a damn father to me... and now... now you have torn that away!" His glass slams onto the wooden counter, a crack slithered its way along to the bottom and up the side. The boy's hands are shaking now, his fists desperately trying to clench but are unable to. "Kane told me that Felicia was a traitor... was killed by Leo because he feared her. I was kept in the dark about it because of my relationship with her." There was a pause. "You know, we fell in love before our gang got merged with Leo's. She told me how this was a mistake... she told me how much of a bloody mistake we were making... but I didn't listen. Instead she took matters into her own hands, leaving me ignorant like a damned child! I hate her. I loathe her. I love her."

I could not speak. This boy's world was shattering around him and it was only a matter of time before the roof caved in. There was nothing beyond the gang, nothing beyond the life he had grown accustomed to. He had convinced himself about having a father that entered into his life two years ago, of love that lasted for a few short years before that. Now everything he knew had no logic, no order. Pity is a good word that could sum up my feelings towards him. It seems I am using that word quite a lot. "So," the boy's eyes shoot towards me. "Will you stand by me? I need to know whether you are an ally or an enemy."

The boy grimaces and turns back to his cracked glass. He stares into it, seeing his quaky reflection and marred expression. "Kane has been feeling like Felicia for a while. He said that Leo wasn't the first leader of the Zodiac. In fact, Leo is apparently new to leadership." His leg jolts up and down, his eyes darting left and right. At last he turns. "I think that's our in."

"How so?" I counter. "I doubt you talked to this Kane in the middle of the base, you probably met him on the side. I assume the gang still thinks you're dead; therefore the likelihood of getting a meeting with Leo is slim. Entering the base is another difficulty—"

"Not unless we draw attention to Leo's youthful authority." I eye the boy. I'm interested in what he has to say, so I urge him onward. "You see, if Kane's been feeling tension in the gang, everyone's been feeling it. These past two years have been good for us, sure, but not what it could be. You see, Leo's too slow, too old fashion. We need to nip him in the butt before he gets any funny ideas to try and change that. That's what we say to swing them. We say that Leo's a risk to the gang, to our way of life. If he saw fit, he'd run us all up a pole and shoot at us like birds. We show that his reign is insecure, that he is mortal just like the rest of us. We give the evidence away and let them rip apart the base from the inside out."

I see his idea, but find flaws in it. "If this information is so controversial, why has this not been tried before?"

I shrug. "Leo's new, so I doubt that would stir anything big. Also, most of the gang is from my old group, not Leo's. Apparently, Leo killed all senior members of the Zodiac when he took charge." Now there was an interesting thing to note. Not only the lack of seniority, loyal members, but also Kane's unwillingness to talk prior to this.

"Why did he not speak out about this before?" I question again, it seems everything the boy says brings up more question. I don't like that.

The boy licks his lips and flexes his muscles. "Morality isn't simple for us, Mr. Drell. Kane never saw a reason for it. He didn't care, never did, never will. He sees that I care though and knows my real reason for going along with you. We don't pick sides. We aren't good or evil, we see profit and deals. This is a chance to change the pecking order around and anyone with eyes can see the benefit in that."

I straighten myself, eyes gleaming. "And what is your reason for going along with my plan?"

A crooked smile crosses the boy's face. "One thing and one thing only: revenge. That bastard killed the only woman I ever loved. No one screws with the people I love." The boy's back becomes straight as his hands rest by his side. In an instant, his left hand flashes up onto the table and he swipes it across the wooden surface, hitting the glass and sending it spiralling into the ground, finally shattering it into pieces. He has had too much to drink. I hate liabilities. "I'll help you, assassin, I'll help you kill him. On one condition though: I get to slay the salarian with my own hands." There was great rage, anger, and violence in the eyes of the boy. The thrill of the hunt was coursing through his veins as much as the alcohol was.

I have regrets with involving this boy. I'm manipulating him, using him for my own gain. I have tried to avoid this in all my actions, tried to escape the compulsion to use others for my own gain. But this want is strong, the desire unbearable. Before me this boy is grinning, ready to complete the task I have been set out to do for myself. It couldn't be easier, yet my mind tells me one simple fact. That I am using this boy as I have been used my entire life. "So, what is your plan then?"

"I'm glad you finally asked," the boy says as stands up, placing one hand on the table to steady himself and the other in his pocket. "The plan is simple. Only Kane knows about my survival, which places me in the awkward position of entering back in. So tomorrow I will walk up to the base, no weapons, and no guns. Just me covered in blood. Kane will help me get through the first few checkpoints and take me to the middle of the gang. There I will spread the horrors about my fight with you and how you told me the dreaded secret." I raise my brow which brings a smile to the boy's face. "The secret being that Leo is selling our gang, that he's become static in his condition, that he is no longer fit to lead us. Here, in the midst of the confusion, many of Leo's guards will appear, obviously threatening to silence me. I will comply to go with them to Leo while the syndicate outside listens to the evidence from Kane. All the while you will be in the rafters, hiding in the shadows. You will follow the guards with me just before the doors where you will take out the guards and allow me to go inside myself and kill Leo."

"How will I be able to get into Leo's room then?" My question seems to bother the boy. He sways from left to right, his form quivering slightly.

"Why the hell would you want to go into his room? What purpose does that action serve?" His hand waves over the bartender once more, who complies with his request. This bothers me quite a bit; does the human see that this boy is already drunk? Why does he continually supply him with alcohol? I do not voice my opinions in time as the glass is already filled. The bartender hands the drink and moves away, possibly not wanting to see the outcome of his choice.

I see the drink rise and immediately swipe it out of the boy's hand and onto the floor before the rim can touch his lips. He swears and demands to know why I did such a thing. I simply reply: "The purpose was to make sure you are not drunk tomorrow and ruin the plan. I intend to see the killing myself, your actions have deemed that course worth indeed."

The boy sneers, plucks his hand from the table and jabs a finger at my face. His breath is coarse of alcohol and sweat. "I don't need you bloody following me around! I will do the shitting job and I will do it well!" His words come in hoarse whispers. "Find your own way into that room, I don't care. But don't give me away!"

His hand drives deep into his pocket as he spits on the floor before me. Saliva drips from his wet lips but he does not wipe it, it hangs there on his accord. "I would not dream of it," I utter back.

A grimace crosses the boy's face. His teeth chatter and move from side to side. At last he accepts defeat and walks off towards the door. But before he can take a step, my hand grabs his shoulder. "What time will we meet, boy?"

His head turns towards me though his body does not move. "For the last time," his hand rests on mine, then grips it and throws it off. "My name isn't 'boy', its Tony, lizard-boy." His gait continues onward, his body swaying back and forth from the alcohol he ingested. At last he reaches the door and flings it wide open but does not go through. He stands there, foot caught on the open door so it does not shut on him. His head cocks again towards me, this time to the left. "Meet at Silverside and Crane at twelve o'clock."

"Human time or galactic time?" I counter.

The boy looks out onto the dark street, yellow light ebbing around his frozen form. The he turns back. "Whose time do you think I mean, lizard-boy? Do I look like a man who follows the bloody feds?"

Then he is gone and I am left alone on my chair, still aware of my surroundings but now more conscious of the inevitable outcome. Still I wonder on my motivations for using the boy. He is just a kid, who am I to utilize him for such ends? I revert back to my previous argument and continue it again. I continue it until I realize the awful truth. I use him because I have been used so often it has become second nature to me. All I can do now is repeat my training, repeat the constant contracts that used my gun, irrelevant of my soul, to complete the kill. This thought haunts me all the way up the stairs. I stop. Stare down. Inhale sharply. Then continue on.

No use changing anything now. I'm too deep in to change my course of action. My path has been set. Amonkira, lord of hunters, grant that my hands be steady, my aim be true, and my feet swift. And should the worst come to pass, grant me forgiveness.

* * *

_My faith in the boy was astounding, I agree to that claim. However, I thought it was well placed at the time. I was centred on myself, actually a common mistake with assassins. You see, we have our own revenge story to tell. Every time our mark is made, our shot is fired, blood spilled on the floor, we feel nothing. We don't care for what has transpired, we only care about the facts. Hard. Cold. Facts. It is these that define every assassin. But similarly, there is another trait that defines us._

_Hate._

_Hate for what our contractors make us do, hate for making our hands dirty instead of theirs. I hate you Specter, but not in the way you think. I hate you for what you stand for, for what you believe in. I hate your role, not your personal connection to it._

_We kill for what? More credits in our account. I did not want to complete the killing myself because I saw it as my revenge on you, I saw it as my retaliation to the world. I was to use this boy like every contractor had used me. And you know what? The boy thought he was using me as well, for he had his own revenge story to tell._

_You know that old human phrase about revenge, Specter? I bet you do. You follow the exact same phrase as I do. I know you better than you know yourself._

* * *

The night is short, the dawn bittersweet. I awake from my slumber transfixed with the ceiling. My cover still has not been exposed. This back room that I rent from the bartender remains mine. Events are to go as planned. I do not welcome them though. How could the boy be so willing to go along with my scheme? How trapped is he in his own vengeful prison? How trapped am I in mine?

My legs swing over the side of the bed and my scaly hands run over my head. I caress my scalp and massage my mind. I put myself at ease with my thoughts. Today I will be rid myself of this contract and I will get my reward. But why does it feel like this isn't the end, like there will be more bloodshed?

I walk over, calmly and deliberately, towards the faucet I have in my torn up room. Tim is kind to offer his hospitality, even if the room is nothing but boxes stacked upon boxes with dust settling in the corners. The water pours out in a single stream, calmly and deliberately. My hands go in and cup the water into a serene pool. I bring it close to my face and, as the water drips between the cracks in my hands, I see my reflection before me, lights dancing around my rippled portrait. Then the water falls back into the sink.

I cannot wash the blood from my hands, nor can I wash it from my face. I am marked by my deeds, stained by my actions. The boy may die, that is a possibility, and if he does it will be because of me. I lead him into this world, just like I had been lead before. The mark and blood flows from my hands to others. I am a disease. My hands slam against the sink in response to these thoughts. I know I cannot change the boy's mind. The path has been set. All I can do now is watch and, in the end, that is the one thing assassins do not like to do: watch the carnage they have created unfold.

I take my coat and my gun with me out of the room. A note is left on the table and a few credits wishing my host well. This little bar has only shown me kindness and to repay my debt, a small amount of credits suffice. I doubt that I will ever lay eyes on this room or this bar again. Assassins rarely re-enter a place of business twice, too much blood painted on faces in those walls. Here though I did not feel like that. Instead I feel my own hands painting the blood. But it was not onto me, it is onto the boy.

I walk down the spiral stairs, the bar barely filled and a few patrons entering through the door. My exit is set before me, now all I have to do is leave. My boots walking along the hard metal are my applause, my applause for a successful contract. Even if the boy dies, his distraction will be large enough for me to complete the contract by myself. The thought of blood on my hands is not a problem. It's the fact that the boy may have his hands filled with blood instead of mine.

Before I leave, I am stopped by Tim's words. "Leaving so soon, Yalen?" I pause at the door and clear my throat.

"Afraid so, Tim." The bartender chuckles as he wipes the table, his shawl moving effortlessly.

"Take care, Yalen." I nod as a reply and start to leave, his words following me as I exit through the door. "If you ever need a place to relax, I'm here." His words are comforting, like he knows the pain I am going through. Yet his empathy is obscene. He can never understand the mark that an assassin has, the blood that masks our identity. He can never understand the price we pay.

Down the street I go, my coat bellowing in the wind. These cold nights on Illium are seldom comfort in the lower regions of this shining city. This place is hated by all assassins for its light, no shadows that hide unsuspecting bullet-ridden bodies. What is even worse is that all people born on Illium fear the dark. All they know is light and so, naturally, the dark is alien to them. No target would ever step into a dark alleyway on Illium. Murder is never private.

I follow the streets for I know them all by heart. Now, across from me, is the area in which I am to meet my fellow man. Before I go, however, a tracer is placed on the corner of the building from the street I entered from. It does not hurt to have an exit preplanned and open for all occasions.

I walk down the street once there are no other suspicious figures in sight. There waits the boy with a cigarette in his hand taking a long drag. Even though it is midday in this city, the light from the sky drifts downwards and turns into an uneasy grey. Even in the sunlight, the lights of Illium remain prominent. I have been in the higher levels of Illium, the weather is hot and tropical. It makes the lower sections coarse and cold. The air taunts as you breathe, it makes you wonder how two places such as these could exist in one city.

"Are we ready to go?" I ask roughly. My voice is cracked in the air like glass and the sooner we can reach the warehouse the better.

The boy just stands there, his eyes glazed over with smoke swirling around him. "Illium... the perfect city. Regulations upon regulations of bullshit. Guns? You can buy them for a few hundred credits. Drugs? Buy them with less. Prohibition for the damned, they say. Who says it? We don't even know." Another inhale from the cigarette. "They say that Illium is the asari's greatest triumph... and their greatest curse. You can't do anything on Illium without someone seeing you. The cameras see all. Maybe that's why the famous like it here; they are already used to being watched." He flicks the cigarette with his thumb while continuously staring up into the sky. "Illium... we are in its asshole..." His turns to me and his eyes are sounded by thick smoke. "Do I look like a man who lives in an asshole and accepts it?"

I walk over to the boy and place my hand on his shoulder. Instantly as I draw near, the overwhelming presence of alcohol washes over me. He has been drinking. "I think we agreed on no alcohol," I state sternly. I do not wish this mission to fail because of this boy's lack of foresight.

"To see clearly you must be blinder than a bat." From his top coat pocket comes another cigarette. He grins as he lifts it to his mouth. "It's just common sense, you damn lizard."

My hand flashes and hits the cigarette from between his lips, smoke still swirling around us. My other hand reaches his collar and grabs tightly. "Take me to the warehouse so we can proceed with the plan!"

The boy looks at me with his top lip in a sneer. "Plan? You think you have a plan?" He pushes me off him and I let go. The boy lifts himself from the wall he was leaning on and starts pacing right five paces and then left ten paces, then right another ten, then left ten. He continues this walk, his head bobbing up and down. "You think you bloody own this place, don't you!? Don't you!? Just 'cause come bastard gave you a slip of paper and some credits makes you have all the plans. Well I got news for you, lizard! I've got plans too." His last words are whispered harshly, the overwhelming stench of his breathe washing over me.

"Just take me to the warehouse," I state again. This only grants ma a grin from the boy.

"Ya... ya I'll take you to the warehouse. Then we will see where the hell all of your plans go and how much of a damn difference they make!"

I follow his swaying gait. The smoke follows us for a bit before dissipating before my eyes. We walk in silence, for I know the outcome of this encounter and he knows that I will only criticize his ideals. At last after crossing a few alleyways, we reach the warehouse. It looks like some boring building that someone forgot to knock down in the year 2152. We reach it without difficulty but I am stopped by the boy's right hand. With his left he points toward the second window to the right of the door on the second level. "That's where you'll go. All windows are locked with shutters but are unlocked instantly when the door is opened. Kane did some of his tinkering magic and hooked the security system with the shutters as well. No one will know you're in."

I nod. "There I will be able to get to the rafters easily?"

The boy chuckles and spits on the floor. Some saliva bobs on his bottom lip after. "My friend, from there you can see everything! Just follow me and know the signal. When the crowd starts to rumble I will run off towards Leo's room. I need you to follow me tightly so that you can take out the guards once I'm there, understand?" I nod.

With that we make our way towards the building. The boy goes first and once he deduces that we are safe to go in, I follow his lead. I draw close to the wall and bring out my pistol. He looks at me curiously but contends to stay silent. Good boy. I whip around and look up, spying the window and a few ledges that can get me there, I calculate my route of accent. Once that is complete I start my climb. It takes me no more than a minute to reach the window and I nod my head to the boy. Nodding back, the boy places his hand into the small gap and opens the door. With a soft metallic buzz I heard the alarms go off on the windows. "Good luck," I call down to him in a soft whisper.

The boy looks up and flashes a toothy smile. "Same to you, you damn lizard." With this complement I break in through the shutters and enter the warehouse, instantly greeted with a loud sound. Music is playing in the background, melodic pianos, a steady electronic beat, the sound of a saxophone all mashed together into a rhythmic jam. It seems the party has already started long before we came in.

Among the neon multicoloured lights, I dash along to wooden beams and grab hold of the supports. The roof is square and I am thankful that the beams are positioned so as to be easily navigable. It is an obvious mistake in foresight by the creator of this building. He or she obviously did not expect assassins to enter.

Below me I spy the boy amidst dancing members of the syndicate. Females and males are dancing close together, kissing, groping and fornicating on the floor. Strippers dancing on poles are on a high platform above the other dancers as syndicate males try and grab at their legs, kissing and fondling the ones that are just within their reach. A turian is near the middle of the crowd and spies my friend. The two meet in the middle as the song's beat sends synthetic rhythms through the bodies of the organics below. The fornicating couples are trampled and stepped over by other couples, but these couples often fall and join the already fallen into a massive writhing beast.

The turian and the boy start to talk as I eagerly await the signal to move onto the next section of the base. I can already see a wooden divider and only hope that the boy's route takes around that wall. A few moments into the discussion and a younger male also spies my friend and calls out his name. Instantly a few personnel recognize him, the turian punches him across the jaw, and the song reaches its climax.

A fight breaks out in the crowd as soldiers begin waling on one another. Bloody knuckles are lifted high to the sky as they come thundering down into the face of another syndicate member. Chaos erupts from the fibres of the gang as the younger boy who spied my friend tries to enter the fray. He is pushed around and thrown aside, causing me to fear for his safety. Should I save the boy? Or should I follow my young friend's instructions? The crux of my dilemma reaches its peak when all the hands of the attackers fly up as one in the crystal lights of room and thrust down onto their attackers. The boy, caught in this rumble, is punched a good twelve feet into the ground, blood trickling out of his head and into a small pool. I feel like screaming out but I can do nothing. Only watch the crimson drip onto the floor from the human's head.

In this instant the lights go crimson and then a second later are interceded with yellow and green. Twisting and swirling, the drugged rumble continues, unending and without course. In this chaos a few dancers are torn down from their poles and are proceeded to be subjugated to the lusts of syndicate male and female members. It is now that the guards with guns (presumably the personal guard of my contract) enter the fray and are pulled into the brawl. Some raise their weapons as to demand the fight to cease, yet they cannot escape the rage of the drunken members. A few are pulled in and thrown into the same punishment as the others on the floor. A few bullets are fired into the air and I have to be careful so they do not collide with me.

Amidst the melody I finally spy the boy who I am to follow. He makes his way, bloodied and bruised to a soldier and starts rambling at him. The krogan soldier looks at him with shock on his face just as his gun is stolen and a shot is rung through the air. My young friend rushes from the murder which has gone unnoticed in the chaos. Though his methods are brutal, his efficiency is to be admired. My feet are swift and my eyes are sharp to the movements of the boy. I rush along the beams, darting and jumping between alcoves in the wood. At last we reach the entrance to my target's office, my heart races. The pounding beat in my ears and the scent of blood in my nostrils. The hunt has begun and it takes every fibre of my being to prevent myself from succumbing to its tantalizing tastes.

Below me the krogan guards see the bloodied hulk of my friend and I hear the conversation just as I move myself into the most efficient position for their demise. "Well, look at what we have here; goddamn Tony back from the dead."

The other's eyes widen. "With a gun too, no less! Now, don't tell me you came to this party just to use that thing."

"It's not mine," states my friend tonelessly.

"Oh, it's that bastard drell's then. I heard that you ended up dead and botched the whole damn mission. Leo was so spitting mad he wanted to send the bastard's son out to kill him instead. I guess Kane did a lot of ass kissing to keep Felicia's whore child alive."

I hear the heat sync in the boy's assault rifle as it begins to heat up. "What did you say?"

The right guard spits on the floor and primes his weapon. "You know as well as I do Felicia whored herself to every man in this damn base. No least to you as well. It's almost impossible to know who the father was. I could be the kid's father for Christ's sake!"

"No you're not," replies the boy monotone. This is my cue. I jump from the rafters and fall onto the guards with my pistol out. As I fall I hear the faint words of the boy echo in my head, words I doubt I will ever forget. "I am."

My body lands on the krogan guard to the right of the boy first. My feet collide with the guards chest. Two quick bursts break through the shield and shatter his skull. A thin mist covers my body as blood explodes from the broken bits of bone and gore. The body does not finish falling before my eyes turn towards the other guard whose assault rifle is not even level with my friend. A small knife is stored in my boot and it takes only half a second before it enters my left hand. Another half a second and the knife is sticking out of his neck and another half a second later the wall behind the knifed body is painted orange.

The body below me hits the floor and I thrown my weight forward into roll. Once the roll is complete I find myself centimetres from the door. I turn my head slightly, awaiting the boy's response. "Damn," he says his voice heavy and his chest heaving. "I never thought... I would be killing again..."

His concerns cause me to turn around. "You do not have to go through with this, you know." My feet clatter on the ground as I approach the fallen guard and retrieve my knife. "I can kill my target without your—"

"No," states the boy monotone. "Felicia... Felicia would want me to do it—"

"That female whom you had relations with—"

"Is dead. I know. But her son..." the boy looks to the ground and sighs, "our son, is still out there. I will be damned if I see Jacob being run by the same bastard who killed the woman I love!"

The beat continues above the sound of fighting. In this space I cannot deny the boy's wishes. Though my guilt will inevitably follow this decision, I remain steadfast. "Then we need to get you in as soon as possible."

The boy agrees and points above me to the wall. I follow his finger to a small metal- barred grate. "Go through there and you will enter the room. It's used for air flow and I doubt you'll be heard with the noise I'll be making once I get in there."

A few more steps from the boy towards the door before I stop him. "What about after? What will happen to this syndicate?"

The boy shrugs. "It might dissolve, it might not. What does it matter to you, lizard-boy? You get the target; I get my son's freedom. What more can you ask for?" I cannot disagree with the boy's logic, yet the nagging feeling continues in the back of my mind. Maybe it's just me.

Climbing the wall is easy with a running start. I grapple to the open slits between the bars and slide up the wall. A few precision shots would easily break open the grate and I await the boy's signal for me to proceed. Below me I see the boy take a deep breath, and then throw himself into the room. A few moments pass as I blare my weapon against the grate. Once this is done, I slip through the hole I have made and jump onto a nearby beam. My gaze flashes towards the floor to find the boy with his gun outstretched to the salarian, my target, which is calmly standing and facing away from the boy. My mind races. _"Take the shot!"_ I scream inwardly.

"And so we meet again, my son." I hear the assault rifle click into firing mode as the boy's reply. I can barely see my target and have to duck around some sections of the beams so I can get a clearer view on the situation. After a moment I find the perfect spot. My gun is set, my aim centered on the target. He will die even if the boy fails.

"Oh, I must disagree. Your last comment is most definitely false, my son." The salarian starts to turn when a shot is fired a few inches from his head. He seems unfazed by the attack.

"Freeze!" screams the boy. The target does not comply, he continues his movement. Another shot rings out against the silence. "Stop!" The target does not agree with this sentiment for he now faces the boy, his smile wide and oddly calm.

"You won't shoot me. Not before you get the pleasure of watching me squirm. Trust me, I know how you feel—"

"Bastards like you could never understand what I feel!" snarls the boy, his face red with rage.

My salarian target only laughs and starts to walk around the room, his hands firmly clasped behind his thin outerwear. All that is protecting him from the bullets is a thin, black trench coat. As he walks he observes the room, picking up small books and objects scattered about haphazardly. I am not fooled by the decorative carpet for a second. This isn't a man who lives in luxury, nor is it the home of a man who does not know every square inch of his surroundings. At last his search ends when he picks a thick leather tomb from an oak bookshelf. I have not seen a book that old in years. The salarian licks his finger and thumbs through the pages. Each flick of the leaves, the boy's finger twitches. My target is playing with this boy, his demise already evident before his eyes. But why?

At last the target comes upon a passage. "'I sung of Chaos and eternal Night, / Taught by the Heavenly Muse to venture down / The dark descent, and up to re-ascend, / Though hard and rare. Thee I revisit safe, / And feel thy sovereign vital lamp; but thou / Revisit'st not these eyes, that rowl in vain / To find thy piercing ray, and find no dawn; / So thick a drop serene hath quenched their orbs, / Or dim suffusion veiled.'" The salarian looks up and snaps the book shut with a flex of his fingers tightly curled around the binding. "Paradise Lost. It has been an example for your people, hasn't it? An example of security, the fight against god, the safety that eternity brings." He begins his pacing again, only this time his movements are slower, more deliberate. "Immortality. The word rolls off the tongue in, not only your native dialect, but in galactic common as well. The simplicity of the word, the unfathomable questioning it brings. How much blood is shed over such a simple ideal?" The target rests the great tomb upon his desk andcocks his head towards the swaying human before him. "Do you live in heaven or hell, my son?"

"I live in neither," states the boy as his gun remains sturdy.

The answer causes my contract to start clapping and laughing, obviously greatly pleased. "If I have to die at the hands of man, then let it be someone who knows hate from love and dreams from reality! Do you understand how your mind may be able to create a heaven from hell yet? Or does it still try to create hell out of heaven?"

A snarl from the boy. "What makes you think that I am here to kill you?"

The target simply shakes his head. "Tsk, tsk. Come now, my son. Don't you understand your own feet? Your blood, the stuff of Icarus that courses through your veins, compels you to kill me. So soon too!" The salarian's hands reach to the sky, the light that reflects in his eye becomes darker and more opaque the longer is remains in the light. "We are gods that live only for the days that we are worshipped. My time of worship lasts only a few years..." His head lowers and glares at the boy, "I hope for your sake that man may be kinder to you."

"Your words won't skew me from my mark!" declares the boy, his gun still pointing directly at the chest of my contract. "No amount of talking will cause me to—"

"Has Morpheus skewed your mark before I have? Oh, what a world for dreams and self defined meaning to break the mind of man before the god does it himself!"

The boy spits to the ground and shoots a few rounds into the sky. I must be careful or else I will find myself riddled with sheets of metal. "This isn't about gods or man."

"Isn't it? I thought the same as you when I was in your place two years five months and fifteen days ago. I was living the same life as you, my son." The salarian starts twirling, spinning with his arms held wide. "Then I was touched by mortality! God does not need man, man needs god! We need a route, a course to blame or cry or search for. I have found that god. The device... the key to this whole damn city..." The salarian starts to chuckle now. "I'm guessing you are not only here to steal my name, but also that as well."

The boy's eyes flash, as do mine. "What do you mean?"

My target's eyes share the same glint of confusion as both the boy and I have. "You do not know about the device or of my keeping of it?" The boy's muscles flex. The atmosphere in the room becomes oddly tense. "Impossible. You would not come here of your own accord, would not risk everything if it was not for that device!" There is an uneasy silence before the target speaks again. "You truly have not heard about the device then? I may come out of this room alive after all—"

"No!" screams the boy as shots slam into the wall behind the salarian. The target does not flinch.

"No... you are here because of another reason. You have heard from someone about some piece of information concerning me, that I am certain. Has that assassin I sent you to kill poisoned your mind? Has that damn drell soiled your thoughts? His gods are false and whatever he promised you was as empty as a mirage. You are damned! You are damned like I am and like we all will be!" Silence falls until the salarian starts talking himself into madness, his gait swiftly picking up pace. "Why won't you shoot? Why won't you do what I did those years ago!? Why won't you kill me!?" The salarian begins to speed up his walk until at last he starts to walk straight towards the boy. My pistol is on him at all times, yet my finger will not pull the trigger. All my training to what, hesitate? The salarian's hand grapples the end of the gun and, with tears streaming down his face and saliva spewing from his lips, he points it directly at his heart. "Pull, dammit. Pull the damn trigger!" The boy seems unable to move, his eyes wide with shock. "What are you waiting for? Pull the goddamn trigger!" It is like he isn't just talking to the boy, but to me as well.

"I... I..." The boy cannot speak.

"Shoot me! Nail me to a tree and spew my blood across the land! Come to my altar and sacrifice your first born for me! Burn and rape for my love! Destroy the world and let all species bask in the fires of me. Send my reign across the land and let my name be heard from cliff to cliff. Let. Me. Be. Reborn!" But the boy's finger is not giving in. The words of the salarian reach its climax. "'Better to reign in Hell, than to serve in Heaven.' Remember those words, my son. Remember those words and give in! Let me die! Do not hesitate! Do not fucking kill me like I killed that turian bastard!" The salarian is screaming and crying now, begging with his voice. "Please! End this! Let me die! Let me become a god and die like one! Do not let me die like a human! Do not let me die a—"

There is a shot. A single shot. In this moment, blood showers the room. The midst of salarian blood settles over the boy, his body covered in the thin yellow slime. A huge hole has appeared in the back of the target. His mouth starts to spew blood as he gags. The boy's eyes are wide as he grapples at the body that slowly falls to the floor. It does not collide with the ground as quickly, for the boy's hands grip the body and lower it softly. The target... no, the salarian... no, Leo... no Syrnen now lays, his eyes glossing over with tears and blood and the boy... Tony before him, staring into those eyes. "Thank you," is all I can hear from the lips of Syrnen as he starts to choke on his own blood. Syrnen pulls Tony in close and whispers into his ear. I cannot guess as to what he is saying but I see Tony's eyes widen at the information, just as they widened when Syrnen draws his last breath.

I cannot move from my perch, only watch as Tony stands up dripping with Syrnen's insides. My contract has been completed by another's hands. It was an innocent's life for sinner's salvation. It makes me sick. I make myself sick by my actions. "I know you're there, lizard-boy." Silence follows that remark. "Is it funny that I don't even know your name, drell? Isn't that just funny?" A beat. "I think it's a pretty good joke, don't you?" He looks up into the rafters, wanting to see me but knowing I am too well hidden to be found. "I know that your contract has been completed by my hands. My revenge... your revenge is complete. Do you feel like a hero yet?" I cannot respond, nor do I wish to. "Well, do you? Do you feel like a victor yet?!" He is yelling and crying now, his tears mixing with blood and sweat. "I bet you do, you bastard. I bet you're pleased with yourself." Tony picks up the rifle in one hand and walks over to Syrnen's table to pick up the leather bound book with his other. "You need not worry about this gang. I will make sure it does not bother your contractor again. If it does... well, then I know who will come find me next." Tony starts to walk towards the door but stops and turns around, his gaze raised to the ceiling. "I'm giving you a minute to get out of this building. Yes, I'm being serious. I want you to leave and never come back."

My body barely makes a sound as I slip between the crevices of wood. I look down once more and see the human, gun and book in hand, staring off into space. My exit route has already been planned from the moment I entered the base, but the outcome of the assassination is something that I could not have prepared myself for. In this moment I do not see a boy, or a human, or Tony. I see Leo; the next leader of the Zodiac Syndicate, and I realize with sorrowed eyes that I am instrumental in his creation.

As I leave I send my final regards in a whisper. "I'm sorry Leo, I'm so sorry." But words such as these are futile when said too late. I realize that these words are two days belated. But there is nothing I can do now. The cycle continues.

* * *

_Yes, I let him go. I know you are angry with the end of my tale, Specter, but know that this was not a tale about getting money or fulfilling a contract. This story was about revenge and what it does to a person. Regardless of species or gender, race or culture, revenge will always create a cycle. I joined this cycle and am now trying to get out. I suggest you do the same._

_Specter, stop battering me with questions. I will not tell you the leader's true name, nor will I tell you any suspicions of where the syndicate is now. Know that the device you seek will not be used for harm and that Leo will now lead that syndicate with distinction and honour._

_I cannot allow you to bring him in for questioning, for you have already done so. That blonde haired male you brought in was the very leader you seek. He was one step ahead of you as they always will be. Give up your hate, Specter Nihlus. It will consume you if you do not._

_I bid you farewell. No, money is not required for this mission. I do not wish any more blood on my hands. The credits you give me now will only serve as a reminder of the hatred I have caused. I must now wash my hands of this great sin and maybe, just maybe if I am so lucky, the taint will wash from my fingers and I will be free._


	16. A Broken Telephone: A Conversation (iii)

**A Broken Telephone – A Conversation (iii)**

_26th of January, Galactic Date: 2181_

[Inside Dargén's office]

"Hello Syrnen, took you long enough to get here."

"I suppose, Dargén. But the asari's demise had to be done with the utmost caution."

"Heh, impossible. There is no way Akio could have learned about his beloved Junia's death. It's simply impossible."

"There is only one problem Dargén—"

"Problem? Impossible, this plan is fool-proof!"

"No, it won't hinder our plans. It just seems odd that Junia met a turian by the corner of her house and kissed him passionately before she went in. He was wearing a disheveled black suit. I was just wondering if we should be concern—"

"You idiot! That was just some poor turian who was swayed like Akio was. I can't believe you would be so foolish to assume that this turian would have anything to do with our plans. Did you approach him?"

"No, my liege, I did not."

"I would hope as much so I do not have to slap you for such foolishness. By doing so you could have ruined the entire plan! Now, be off with you."

"There is but one more thing I have to say, Dargén, before I leave."

"That is? Speak up Syrnen, or do I have to slap you again?"

"Oh, I will not be the one slapped anymore you idiot turian."

"Wha-... what is the meaning of this? Why are my guards holding their weapons against me? Stop! I command you to stop—"

"They are with me, Dargén. Too long has our company been stalled by your lack of foresight and lack of ambition. No more will we be just a small group huddling around minimalistic drug deals. I assure you that I will use the device in the vault for my own purposes with you gone."

"Syrnen, you snake! You'll bloody pay for what you- ah... ah... you... fu..."

"Now, now Dargén. Sleep my beloved turian; speaking will not heal the wound in your chest."

"Gah...fu...k...yo...Syrnen... you... bastard..."

"Hush my master, you need not call me that name anymore."

"Who... are... you?"

"I am Leo and I demand to be called such."

"He is dead, Leo."

"Yes he is Kane, and with his death, my reign begins. Now we must hurry to the bar. Akio won't want us to be late for the climax of this performance."


	17. The Sisters Grimm

**A/N: This one is a very interesting story. Though I can attribute the story as my work, the characters of Dana and Elena Flores (and all their associated family members) are not mine. They come from a wonderful author called Osage. I absolutely adore these characters that she created and as such as I asked if I could use them in a story. Now, astute readers may ask, "Wait, does that mean that Osage's story, 'Mass Effect: Origins' is canon to the Moonshine Cafe?" Not necessarily. These characters are considered canon, but the events that happen in that story are not canon at this moment. I really don't know if they will be at this point.**

**Enjoy the story!**

* * *

**The Sisters Grimm**

_4th of August, Galactic Date: 2180_

The bar was quiet and that was just how Elena Flores liked it. Red velvet was beneath her feet as she stepped into the shabby bar. On her first glance around the room, she saw only two people inside, though a calm meeting was all that this task entailed, her natural tendency for small groups of people made her body feel instinctively at ease. She spied a man between two long rectangular counters that centered the bar. He wore a simple outfit, black pants and a ruffled white button-down shirt. His hair was at medium length and his hands moved liked water around the cups he washed and cleaned. Elena decided that he must be the owner of the establishment and walked over to his position.

"Oh, hello there," smiled the bartender as Elena drew close. _God, I'm glad I'm wearing my civilian clothes from this meeting_, she thought somberly. She wore a simple white button-down shirt that her friends all said looked nice, and a dark blue skirt that looked good with the white; she wore nothing at all that would inspire any questions on her occupation. This man, however, seemed to see through her disguise. It drove her slightly mad. "What may I get you?" he asked with warmth.

Elena gave a quick smirk to her response. "I'm looking for someone," she replied with her usual calm tone of voice. "Did you see a brown haired female walk in here? She usually has her hair in a bun." The bartender widened his grin as his hand that held a wine glass rose and pointed behind her. The woman turned around and spied the designated female in a silver jacket, black tank top, and slick black pants. She was sitting alone at a circular table by a window. Dana… there she was_. Long time no see, sis..._

It had been a few years since they had caught up with each other. It had been a regular thing since their father's death, thrice a year they would meet up and keep in touch. With both parents dead, the two sisters felt a breaking of their family and it was something neither of them wanted to deteriorate any further. As such, contact was crucial. But as time went on, the meetings became further apart; Elena was on a mission or Dana was speaking with an important military official on Eden Prime and would be gone for a few days. Soon it became once a year for a meeting and now it had been three years since they last saw each other. The last time they met was on Freedom's Progress, their birth planet. Their lack of communication was possibly due to Elena's recent successes, or maybe it was because the sisters were following in their parents' footsteps. _No that can't be it_, reasoned Elena solemnly. _I would never be like that pacifist. I can't be like him._

"Thank you," replied Elena quickly as she straightened her back and started to walk towards her sister. The bartender's smooth words brought her around again.

"Do you want anything to drink? Your sister was quite apt to ask for something." It was then that Elena noticed the beer in front of her sister. Two other empty glasses were before that and internally Elena groaned.

Her hair swished from her sister to the bartender, just like her eyes had. "You have coffee here?"

The bartender nodded and lowered the clean glass. He walked over to the counter behind him and brought out a mug. The coffee maker sat atop the counter. "What brew?" he asked over his shoulder.

Elena licked her lips. "Whatever you got, I'm not picky." Her head turned back to her sister who still had not noticed her. _Or maybe she has_, thought Elena solemnly. _Maybe she's just trying to forget I'm here. _But the thoughts soon dissipated with a sigh. _Who am I kidding; she's probably too drunk to notice I'm here._

It did not take long before the coffee was finished and the bartender brought it over to her. "Milk? Sugar? Cream?" he probed politely.

"A bit of cream, two sugars," she responded, distracted by her thoughts of her sister. The coffee was placed on the counter before her and Elena scooped it up in one hand without looking. It was pleasantly warm, not scolding or too cold.

With her other hand she went into her pocket for some credits, but was denied by the bartender. "It seems you two need some place to talk and some privacy. I don't see anyone here, so that coffee's on the house." Elena smiled softly and thanked the bartender. This man seemed quite genuine in his remark.

Elena turned but was called back on last time by the bartender. "Oh, this is between you and me by the way. I don't want any regular customers thinking I'm favoring someone over them." Elena chuckled lightly and nodded, saying that she would definitely keep it their secret.

The walk over was quiet and precise. It took no longer than a few seconds before Elena was beside her sister's form, her head cocked so she could observe the outside alleyways. _It's been a long time since I've been in the underbelly of Illium_, Elena thought with a grimace. _They should really clean this place up; it doesn't look any good compared to the skylights above_. After a moment of silence, Elena looked to her sister. "This seat taken, sis?"

Dana Flores looked at her sister with a relaxed expression. _Not sure whether it's due to the alcohol, or if it's genuine_, debated Elena while Dana started to stand. "It's been too long, Elena," she said as the two sisters shared an embrace. It felt real and genuine to Elena, yet there was something beneath it. There was always something beneath it. All of their meetings would start off like this, so peaceful and relaxed. But quickly reality would rear its ugly head and those unfortunate topics that Elena always hated would spring up again.

At last they separated and Elena nodded in reply. "Yes, it has been far too long, Dana." She took a sip as she began to sit down at the round table Dana was situated at.

Once they were both seated, Dana began to talk. _She is always the one who has to start the conversation? Well at least some things don't change, _Elena mused, yet decided that cynicism was not the best way to start rebuilding their already tenuous relations. "I was waiting to see how long it would take you before you came over here." _So she did notice me when I came in_, realized Elena. _I guess she can hold her liquid quite well._

Elena shrugged and took another sip of her coffee. "You know me, I always like to observe, then act, sis." That comment made them silent for a long time. It wasn't really the comment itself, but the context of it. It was exactly like how their father used to act.

It took a while, but after both of them had stopped taking small sips of their respective drinks, Dana spoke out. "Congratulations, by the way, on your promotion." The comment caught Elena off guard. Was her tone amused, sincere, or sarcastic? The one person Elena always had trouble reading was her sister. She supposed that was because they shared the same blood, but then again, those eyes were always so barred. So many barriers had been placed by her sister. Elena knew the feeling well; she placed the same barriers her sister did. It was the way of survival in the military. _Too bad Father never saw it that way…_

"Oh, that thing," Elena waved it off with a smile. "It really wasn't that big a deal—"

"Wasn't a big deal?" Dana chuckled to herself as she leaned back in her seat and brought the beer to her lips. "You're so naive sometimes, Elena. Being promoted to major is huge in the Alliance. If I ever got that promotion I'd… I'd…" The silence returned after that comment until Dana shook it off. _She's still bitter about that, isn't she?_ Assumed Elena. When Elena got the promotion in the spring of 2179, she received many a message on her terminal. Most were fellow captains she had served with congratulating her on her accomplishments. She even received a few from admirals wishing her luck as well. The one message that stuck out in her mind was Dana's though.

_Elena_, it read. _This is a big honor; I really hope this is good for you. I really do._ _I hope you don't fuck it up, sis. _The message ended with her sister's name, Dana. It was one of the shortest messages she had ever received from a family member and it was the last one she had gotten until the recent reply to hers, which entailed her ask asking if her sister wanted to meet up on Illium. But Dana's reply to this notion was even shorter than her last message, causing Elena to never expect the single syllable word as a true message from her sister.

Her memories faded back to the café. The spinning fan above them swirled sluggishly and Elena found herself slowly sipping her cup to avoid speaking. But Dana did not respond to her comment and it fell upon the younger sister to start the conversation anew. "I just got lucky, that's all," Elena started as she lowered her coffee to the linen cloth that draped the top of the table. "Right place at the right time, that's always how promotions work—"

"Maybe it's just luck," interrupted Dana as she swirled the glass drunkenly in her relaxed position_. I'm not normally this tense_, conceived Elena as the sudden realization of her poised neck and tight back queued her towards discomfort. _Place me in a club with friends and I'll dance the night away in some sexy red dress. Place me in front of my sister and I freeze up._

"Luck seems like an odd way to put it—"

"Heh, I bet your friends didn't say otherwise." Elena found this remark shocking. Dana had always disagreed on her sister's covert path in the Alliance military, but this outright jab towards, not only her line of work, but also her comrades within was completely uncalled for.

Elena rolled her shoulders and breathed in sharply. "I'll have you know that my comrades are some of the best operatives in the damn Alliance!" Her raised tone surprised even herself and she found Dana's brow rising steadily at the defensive rebuttal.

But Dana, as always, had a retort of her own. "I highly doubt a bunch of special ops soldiers are to be considered 'trustworthy'. Even now, when I received your letter a few days ago meeting up here, I had to be sure it wasn't a false message. I want you to be safe, Elena. Everyone knows you can never trust those Cerberus dogs." That name. That sharp and accented flick of air excreted from Dana's lips. It was a loaded term in the System's Alliance, one that held much meaning for Elena as well.

To Elena the word meant a line of work, a placement in the Alliance that she felt secure in, where felt surrounded by friends and allies. To her sister, however, Cerberus was a word situated with the likes of liars and thieves. The constant race to Commander and Captain in the regular barracks drove her mad. Her philosophies on promotion were not a tightly kept secret either. When Elena first received the message, she was shocked at the response. So were her comrades in the barracks as her placement was also decided with the letter. _I guess that could be why Dana hates me so much. She has been wanting to get somewhere in the military since she first joined._

Dana took another sip of her beer, making a harsh slurping sound as her lips tried to receive as much of the liquid as she could from the bottom of the glass. That same glass fell to the table with a sharp click and the eyes that watched that glass turned upon another target. "I did not anticipate my own flesh and blood to ever be in a place such as Cerberus." She basically spat the name out of her mouth. "I regret to think that even now the little girl I grew up with, the one who wanted to be married in a beautiful dress, would ever agree to work for such a horrid organization."

Elena was hurt by the jab. "I'm still that same girl you knew, Dana. I'm still your sister." It was the same with all their meetings. Elena would be on the defensive and Dana would be on the offensive. Every time, before Elena went to meet her sister, she would tell herself to be bold. _Don't let her take advantage of you, don't let her place you on the back foot_, she would think to herself. But when the time came for their conversation, Elena would always think differently. _Maybe sincerity would work; maybe I can get beyond that barrier and help my sister._ It never worked out.

There was an elongated pause. It was painfully dull and its end was accented sharply by Dana's voice. "No. That little girl is long dead. I saw her die beside an open grave when her father was being buried. She wore a training badge proudly above her right breast on her newly received uniform."

The coffee was cold now and so was Elena's stance towards her sister. "I did not kill our father, regardless of what you think, Dana."

"No." Dana swirled the empty glass in her hand like it was still half full as she stared intently into the table. "I did." The definitiveness of her sister's statement was like being shot at point blank range. Not by an enemy solider or a robot in a training exercise, but by her own comrade. There was so much beyond her sister's eyes she could never see, so much she wanted to know about her sister that would never be told. But that exact statement was one that Elena could have gone without hearing her entire life. _She's so direct with everything she does... why can't she just be at ease?_

"Dana," started Elena, trying desperate to contain her voice, but failing to decrease her direct tone, "you know you had nothing to do with his death! No one can control what someone else does with their life. Just try and move on—!"

"And what about you, Elena?" Dana's fury now turned upon her sister. "Do you still think that you caused mom's death? Don't tell me to move on when you obviously can't." The tempo of the conversation was slowly increasing. Elena knew that Dana would never consider lowering their voices and being less forceful. However, in that moment neither did Elena. Dana's voice became a harsh whisper; the wisps of her alcoholic-induced breath wafting towards Elena. "You did not know mother like I did. She was kind, sweet. She made our father so much better than he was later in life. He smiled, Elena! But when she died he put on a brave face for us, he tried to move. But what did I do? I joined the military and broke his heart indefinitely!

"You were eighteen years old!" screamed Elena, her face inching towards her sister's. "How would you know what he was going to do? He could've longed for suicide immediately after Lucia's death!"

"No," stated Dana viciously. "He was a strong man, Elena. Without her though, he was just a machine intending to fix everything in the world but himself." Dana threw her gaze directly to the ceiling, bits of hair waving in the soft breeze caused by the fan. "Sometimes I see our mother in my dreams. Nights are long in Alliance Command and in those nights I remember her face. The memories are foggy and I can barely make out her features but I see her, Elena. I know she would've wanted me to take care of dad." Dana stressed every word that came forth from her lips. Each time a word was said, it was punctuated by her hand slamming on the table. "I saw her."

"You said it yourself," retorted Elena furiously, throwing herself back into her chair, her arms crossed before her. "Your memories are clouded so it's not entirely impossible that you didn't remember her clearly. Therefore," her voice was close to a scream now, "you're not responsible!"

"The hell I'm not!" fired back Dana as she leapt from the table and stormed towards the back of the bar.

She scanned the room for a bit before Elena cried out, "Where do you think you're going?"

"To get some air!" Finally finding her destination, Dana drew towards the closed door at the far right of the bar and flung it open wide. Her exit was solidified by the harsh slam of the door on its frame.

Elena, rubbing her temples with the tips of her forefingers, collapsed onto the table. Her elbows made contact and sent shock waves towards the empty beer glasses that tumbled over onto their sides. Pressing her eyes shut, she took deep breaths to sooth her inflamed head. _This is why I don't meet up with her anymore_, sighed Elena as she continued to massage her pressure points. _Every_ _time, it ends in blame. Why can't we just move on?_ When these thoughts returned to Elena, memories of their childhood would always resurface.

Those days in the colony were of peace and innocence. And that innocence shattered by Dana's entrance into the military_. "Don't worry, sis,"_ her sister said before heading off in the shuttle_. "In two years, you can join too!"_The idea excited her, yet terrified her father. A pacifist by nature, he reeled at the very notion that one of his daughters would ever join the Alliance Brass, let alone two. But when both his daughter's showed interest, it was too much for him. Emillo Flores died just a few days after her graduation of basic training. Elena still hated him for it.

"Are you finished with your drinks, Elena?" The voice was smooth, calm, and oddly reminiscent of someone she had talked to before. Her eyes creaked open and her head turned softly to find the bartender standing before her, a smile on his face.

"Yes please," she responded, brushing long chestnut strands away from her face. "How do you know my—"

"Name?" finished the bartender as he started to clear away the glasses. "I overheard your conversation. Well, overheard is really an understatement." Elena felt embarrassed at that comment. She had not realized how loud her sister and she had gotten in their argument. Feeling ashamed of her rudeness, she decided to apologize. "No apology needed," he replied with a grin. "But I do ask one favour of you."

"That is?" she responded with a smile. _Damn his happiness is contagious._

"See my friend over there?" he asked with an outstretched finger pointing towards a man in a light brown overcoat tending to his saxophone. Elena nodded. "He's going to be playing in here for a bit. Would it be alright if he did?" The young woman looked once more from the bartender to the man with the saxophone. Realizing the kindness emanating from the bartender, she nodded once more. "Brilliant, thank you again."

Before leaving, however, Elena got him to stay for another question. "You obviously know my name, but what's yours?"

The bartender gave a wide smile as the back doors of the bar opened once more. "Tim, my dear." With that he left and Dana entered back into the bar. Her sister gave Elena a curious look when the bartender left with their glasses and an even more intrigued gaze was given at the sight of the blushing female.

"I always knew that you were quite the Juliet, Elena. But getting him to worship you that fast? I'm impressed." A smug grin accompanied the comment from Dana as she sat back down with her hands placed onto the table, clasped together. "We need to talk this through," she began after a moment. Elena noted how she had completely swept aside her previous comment. _I don't even want to get into that argument though._

Another pause from Dana meant a long silence until she started to speak again. But this time the silence was cut short by the ring of the sax in the bar and the voice of Elena. "I associate a lot of our family's misfortunes with myself. I can't help that." A scoff from Dana caused Elena to stop, but her voice sounded again immediately after Dana's snide action. "I killed Lucia because of my biotics; there is a direct connection between cause and effect there. Our father's suicide would have happened whether we liked it or not. As you said, he was a machine and he could never have functioned without constant support. That type of support is something neither of us could have given him." Dana looked over her shoulder towards the music being played from the center of the bar. Her mouth was fixed in a straight line and her gaze was equally as direct.

"Look at us Elena..." The short haired sister's voice was soft, softer than Elena had ever heard it. "Look at us debate over who killed who... What good is that causing us?" _She always has to be the person who knows everything_, sighed Elena. _Why does Dana think she is right all the time? _Elena saw a smirk rise on her sister's lips. "I guess in the end, we are both guilty as charged for our parent's murders."

"No one is guilty, sis." Dana whipped her head around; her neatly tucked bun was starting to come undone. Elena noted her sister's temper rising again and decided to be softer in her tone. _Maybe this time sincerity will work._ "Why must there be a reason for what happened? This fighting... it's all because of our past. You and I are constantly trying to find reasons for what happened. Maybe it just happened. There doesn't have to be a reason for everything, Dana."

The short haired sister's fist collided with the table before she spewed out another angry comment. "I don't believe in that!" Between the sisters, the saxophone was all that could be heard in the bar. "I can't believe that," started Dana again, her voice as fragile as glass. "Not here. Not with our parents."

Slowly and cautiously, Elena's hand drew towards her sister's fist and grasped it. The soft touch was foreign to her sister and Elena could sense the hesitation in her arm, the muscles tense and ready to pull away. But the caress made her hand stay there. _Maybe this time it'll work._

"Do you remember when we were young and we talked about what we wanted to do with our lives?" Dana twisted her head away, her gaze as clouded as the sky outside. Though this action discouraged her, Elena persevered. "You always seemed so certain of what you wanted. I wanted to be a princess like in those old vids, then I wanted to be a spirit in the wind, then I wanted to be a wife, and finally I set my sights on the military." Her hand tightened around Dana's. "You were so grounded in reality, sis. You were so certain of everything around you. I lived in a fairy tale, waiting for magic to burst from the ground. In the end, I learned that those tales were false. The ground you stood on was what was real. I envied you. Now I realize that I was mistaken, that I should not have lost the tales of my youth. Dana," her voice was now no louder than a whisper, a chant, a prayer, "let go of reality, just for one moment." The barrier was breaking and with a flick of her head, the bun came undone and Dana looked towards her sister with watered eyes. Beneath those eyes was that same young girl Elena once was. It was the girl who dreamed of the stars and wanted to see the universe. Who, herself, wished on the stars and lived in a fairy tale. But now the hard shell of the universe had molded her and broken her. It shielded everything she knew until all that remained was a hard shell.

"I..." started Dana shakily. "I..." _Maybe this time_, thought Elena hopefully, _I can finally meet the sister I lost_. Through all her hope, all her ambition, she was so close to reaching her sister. But sadly, that was not the will of the universe. "I can't live in that world, Elena." Her hand retracted and Elena found her own extension trying to grasp it once more, but it was too late. Dana had hardened.

"Reality is my only home, the only place I have to go back to. I'm safe here." Elena couldn't believe what she was hearing and as Dana's slender fingers took her short hair and wrapped into behind her head, Elena knew the awful truth: she had lost her sister again. Once Dana was done with her action she stood up from the table, her gaze forlorn towards the door. "I'll be going now, Elena. It was nice seeing you." Elena knew that comment was obviously fabricated; at this point anything Dana said was probably a lie to soften the blow of her choice.

Elena followed her sister all the way to the double doors but Dana stopped at them before opening and turned back to Elena. _Maybe... maybe this is the day. Please, if there are any higher beings in the sky, let this be the day I can connect to my sister!_ "You look good today, Elena." That simple comment was the last Elena heard of Dana as she pushed through the doors and out onto the street.

Frustrated and furious in her failure, Elena flashed back to facing the table, her hair falling all over her face. She did not care about her appearance as emotion took over her whole body. _Dammit, dammit, dammit!_ She grappled her hair and threw her elbows on the top of the table. _Why is she so damn stubborn? Why can't she accept anything for once? Why am I always the one trying to fix everything? A better question is: why do I even care anymore? _Lashing against herself and intoxicated with anger towards her sister, Elena did not feel the soft touch of a hand on her shoulder. She did not notice it until she stood up and accidentally punched the owner's face and sent him staggering back.

The connection of flesh to flesh brought Elena back as she started apologizing profusely towards the bartender, Tim. "It's quite alright, my dear," he said with a grin. Rubbing his jaw and placing his other hand on Elena's shoulder, he spoke again. "You got quite the right hook there." Elena chuckled lightly and the bartender brought around that winning smile once more.

"I'm sorry about showing you the punch though," replied Elena with a nervous expression.

The bartender shook it off. "It's no problem." There was a pause as he looked at her, observing her fully. For some reason, Elena didn't mind this. "I can see you're very troubled though."

"Yes," responded Elena, "yes I am." Patting herself down and brushing her hair behind her ear, she started to leave the bar.

"Wait! I have something to ask you!"

Elena turned around at the voice of the bartender. "Yes?" she asked, her voice low and distraught.

"Well, I was wondering if you would like to stay and hang out with my friend and I." Elena glanced over at the saxophonist who had just finished his song and was drinking some sort of margarita while looking at her. "So?" he said with his hand outstretched. "What do you say?"

Elena laughed again, this time with full force. "Are you asking me on a date, Tim?"

The bartender's brow raised and his face showed an expression of shock. This only caused Elena to laugh more. "Date? Oh my, not at all! A patron and their bartender have a more important relationship than just a physically one!"

The woman placed a hand on her hip and leaned to her left. "That is?" she asked coyly.

"It's the ability to share a drink between friends, to wallow in each others' sorrows, and to have a shoulder to lean on. In the end, it's the ability to have someone care about your troubles for just one day and to know that your problems are not the only ones in the world." His hand was still outstretched and he nodded towards it. "What do you say?"

Turning back to the double doors behind her, Elena was torn. But in that moment she shook her head and smiled broadly. Taking the hand and walking up beside him, she replied, "Lead the way good sir!"

Tim's smile was bold and confident. "With pleasure, my dear!" And so, as Elena walked towards the bar and ordered another coffee, the sax rang out against the darkened sky and she knew that there was some comfort in the world. _Maybe one day I will connect with my sister, _she though as she sat down at the rectangular bar table_. But you know what?_

_It can wait._


	18. A Broken Telephone - Security Tape (ii)

**A Broken Telephone – Security Tape (ii)**

_26th of January, Galactic Date: 2181_

[Footage from Camera 663-22 D in the Moonshine Café]

The bar is peaceful. A lonely human male sits at the counter with the note and package his lover gave him. In the package: a single rose. In the corner, a turian male wearing a black suit sipping his drink casually. The bartender behind the counter gives him another drink and puts his hand on his shoulder. "She will be here soon, Akio. Don't worry." The bartender leaves in the back to get more drinks.

From the entrance enters a salarian in battle armour with a group of twelve mercenaries behind him. The man, whose name is Akio, turns his head and spies the leader of the group. "No... dammit no!" He stands up. "What have you done with her, Syrnen?"

"It is not Syrnen anymore, it's Leo. Dargén is dead and I have come for the codes to restart this feeble gang. Give me the codes to the vault and I will tell you where Junia is."

Akio screams and pulls out his pistol. "No! You do not know what terror these codes hold!"

"Neither do you. Hand me them now!"

Akio looks at the codes and then shakes his head, beginning to fire a few rounds into the group. A turian is hit and killed, but he is the only one Akio kills before he is slammed by the power of an asari's biotic blast. His body flies backwards, smashing into a beam which snaps his spine before he falls to the floor.

The bartender enters the bar and ducks behind a table as he spies the salarian walking over towards the fallen codes. He does not reach it, for a table is turned and the turian in the suit starts to open fire. Glasses shatter behind the counter and biotic prowess is thrown across the room, smashing against beams of wood and shattering the roof of the building. The turian is pinned down but presses a button which causes the whole entrance way to explode in an array of splinters and flame. The explosion renders most of the mercenaries dead, but a few are still alive. The turian picks them off one by one; each killing followed by a spray of black blood. Static rushes across the footage as the salarian picks up the codes in his hand and starts running towards the exit. The turian spies him and starts to chase, but is stopped by another explosion which comes from the single rose at the counter and throws him back into tables.

The image starts to quake and shake as the camera falls to the floor. Then the lines of static form a wall of grey and white, making the record impossible to view.


	19. Finders Keepers

**A/N: This is a short story I got the idea for after finishing Not a Penny for the Damned. It's a different type of story that fits well with Valentines Day. I'd like to thank all the people who have reviewed and showed their support for this series of stories. I'm glad everyone is enjoying the stories as much as they are and I hope you enjoy this one just as much.**

* * *

**Finders Keepers**

_10th of March, Galactic Date: 2184_

A crack of thunder screams across the sky as I lay restless in my cot. The room is small and, though it isn't the best living conditions I have ever experienced, it is home. The dull, moist heat that had set in over Illium is causing me to sleep dreadfully though and nothing is worse than a restless asari at night.

My mind starts to think about all that had happened the day prior. A distraught musician was trying to debate whether he was worth the credits he received or not. Tim, of course, went over to help him after I delivered the Bloody Mary that the human had ordered. Unfortunately that charismatic bartender could do little to communicate with the musician's twisted tongue of melodies and rhythms. It was Mr. Saxophone who came in and saved the day.

Here I am, thinking of that day and all I can see is Tim's face. This image is, sadly, has plagued my existence for the past few months. Ah, what a dismally romantic vision I have gotten myself into. A few times I even considered leaving. I mean, who am I? An asari who dotes on a messy, brown haired human? The best of our species are politicians, the worst are awestruck lovers. Where am I? Most definitely in the later camp. So why haven't I left? Well, I guess that falls back to Tim and now I start to wonder what made me so attracted to him. Which brings me back to that face. It's a vicious cycle, isn't it?

When I was young I laughed at the doting asari. They were always so bold in wanting to see more. When I was a hundred I laughed and laughed. Now at the age of two hundred a five I have become them. I am one of the star struck asari I so furiously mocked. It makes me wonder where it all went wrong.

A streak of pain seers through my skull which causes me to move around to the side of my cot and I sit up on the edge. Tim taught me to massage my temples when I got these pains and I do so now, but it is to no avail. Cursing the pain creasing my head, I stand up and decide to ask him what to do. My legs move slowly and clumsily through the room until I reach the door and I pull myself into the hall.

My head sticking out, I call to him. "Hey, Tim?" I get no response, which bothers me slightly. "Tim!" Still nothing. Sighing and cursing my luck that he would be asleep, I decide to yell at him. "Dammit Tim, I want to ask you something—" My comment gets cut short by little feet dancing over the tops of mine as I scream aloud and fall onto my back. I crawl frantically around the room and bat at the ground with my hands. In my mad frantic bashing, I hear a sharp "oof!" come from Tim's room.

No more than a few seconds after that sound he comes rushing into my room, flicking on the light, his eyes wide with worry. "Something happen?" he asks, concerned.

I flex my fingers and stand up. "No thanks to you," I reply smartly. He looks at me with that curious gaze, but he is probably smart in not immediately asking any questions.

Unfortunately, after a few moments of us standing there looking like idiots, he does. "So?"

"So, what?" I retort, starkly.

A quick grin graces his face. "Are you going to tell me what happened in here?" He takes a step forward and extends his hand towards me. I deny it though, still obviously shaken by the creepy creature crawling over my foot. In the end, I don't need his pity, nor do I need any 'man's' helping hand.

"Something ran across the floor," I reply bluntly. I am hugging myself with my arms and it takes me only a few moments to notice the weakness of this position. Realizing this, my arms firmly clamp to the sides of my body.

Tim eyes seem amused, yet his stance is oddly comforting. 'Comforting'? Maybe I have spent too much time around this human. "So let me get this straight," starts Tim with a wiry tone. "A small creature... ran across the floor—"

"And over my foot," I correct.

Tim nods. "Yes, and over your foot." He takes a few steps over and places his hands on my shoulders. I do not shrug them away this time. "Sarnia, are you sure it wasn't just your imagination?" Now I shrug the hands off my shoulders and cross my arms in front of my chest. My gaze is direct and disapproving.

"Honestly, Tim. Would I lie to—goddess!" Tim's brow creases as he turns to the direction of my gaze and yelps with surprise at the little furry monstrosity nosing its way around the floor. Its dark spherical eyes stare at us blinking occasionally, but mostly just giving this daunting stare. Slowly, Tim inches his way closer. Then he pounces, but misses horribly.

The creature scurries away down the hall and through a crack between the open door and the frame. Slamming his fist on the ground, Tim pushes himself up and looks around. After a moment of silence he starts chuckling – chuckling! I nearly thought I was going to have a heart attack and here he is laughing his head off! "Never thought I would see one of those bastards again," he says, looking at me with that goofy grin.

"What 'bastards'?" I ask him, still slightly shaken from the recent events.

He stands up to his full height now and walks a few paces over, grabbing my hand. Pulling me through the hall, laughing his head off and shaking his head, he speaks. "Rats, my dear. On Earth, the whole place is plagued with them. Since the beginning of the human race, rats have been there to sleep in our dung and scare our women." Whether it is the lack of sleep or the excitement over a simple 'rat', I cannot tell for the life of me why Tim is so damn happy. This human makes me so confused at times. "I lived on Earth for a few years and always hated the creatures." The door to the main foyer opens and Tim flicks on the lights. Slowly with precision, each line of lights comes to life in order from where we are to the front of the bar. "Though I was poor then, so I didn't have any expensive rat catchers like they do nowadays."

He drags me down the stairs and I follow closely behind. It is only now I realize that I am barely wearing any clothing and Tim is only wearing a simple silk pant. Do I care? Hell no! "So what did you do?" I ask once we reach the main floor.

A grin flashes across his face as he places his hands on his hips. "Well my dear, I use to have myself a little rat catching endeavour." Before I can even begin to ask what the hell that means, he is off slamming his fists on the ground and shouting to the floor. I cannot believe my eyes. What the hell is this human doing? Before I can ask him about his actions, I spy something in the corner of the bar.

"There!" The rat jumps at my voice and Tim is up and running towards it, missing it completely which causes him to dive into the tables. The rat races across the ground as Tim emerges from the disordered mess on the floor.

He looks at me and points to the rat running away. "Well? What are you waiting for?!"

So begins the chase. We run across tables and chairs, duck under stools, and smash glass cups as we descend upon the furry monster. Every turn it makes, I am a second behind and I have to launch myself in another direction. There, Tim is usually waiting for the rat but it ducks between his legs and I fall into his arms, both of us hitting the floor laughing.

I see the rat desperately trying to find a chance to escape but there are no holes in the walls on the main floor of the Moonshine Cafe, so it finds its options quickly dwindling. Well, let's be honest. They would be dwindling if Tim and I weren't so incompetent! Every time I set up the rat running towards me, it slips between my legs or dashes around me, leaving me either bewildered or flat on my back.

With all the calamity and chaos in the bar, I expect Mr. Saxophone to rush in with his sax wailing to one of those 'classic tunes', as he likes to call them. Something by Charlie Parker would suit the mood. Yes, something from that classy jazz musician that Mr. Saxophone adores so much would definitely suit this situation. Too bad he isn't here to provide that atmosphere.

As our exercise stalls, we find ourselves sweating and panting. Our brows are soaked and fatigue is quickly catching up to us. The rat still runs around however, desperately trying to find an exit. Tim follows it with his head; back and forth his head sways, watching its every move. "Think it might be a lost cause?" I ask, my breath coming in deep gasps.

This time the shake of his head is not because of the rat. "No, I am certain we can catch this thing." He straightens his back again. No words are needed as I follow his lead and start the ruckus once more. Why do I follow him? Wasn't it a minute ago that I contemplated leaving? Why am I still here? This is madness and a jumble of complete and utterly insane commotion. Why the hell am I still here? I guess it is for the same reason that I wear a smile on my face as I chase the rat. I just love being here and you know what? I might actually love Tim too. I shake my head to this however: silly Sarnia and your young, love-sick ideas.

On a particular bout around the circular bar table, I rush towards the doors. Tim follows the rat relentlessly around the table and I spy the rat's path heading straight towards me. The little bastard is mine now. I crouch down, eyeing the rat menacingly, yet it still rushes towards me. It's actually kind of intimidating, but this thought hits just as the rat runs between my legs. I turn and in doing so flick the lock to the door with my arm. Dizzy, I my feet get twisted and I find myself falling backwards through the doors and onto the cold street outside. A second passes as I realize two things. One, it is my fault I am laying here, for my arm unlocked the door due to my flailing. And two, it is raining. A few seconds outside and I find myself soaked to the bone. Oh well, at least the thunder has stopped.

Tim rushes to my aid and helps me up. All I care about however is that rat squeaking and laughing as it runs off into the foggy distance. I hope it gets eaten by some homeless person, serves the damn thing right. "Are you okay?" he asks, brushing off my front and back, then leading me back inside the bar. To be honest, I'm not okay. I'm wet, tired and defeated by a small vermin that could barely pass as a varren in ferocity. But I say what I always say. I lie and tell him I'm alright and that everything is fine.

Thank the goddess that Tim can tell a lie from a mile away. Maybe that's why he makes such a good bartender. "I can tell you're not," he says to me as he grimaces at my soaked exterior. "I wish I could get you some clothes. Do you have anything?" The clothes I am wearing now are a pair of loose sweats I bought at a local second hand clothing joint that was run by humans down the street. My shirt is just a tight, white tank top that isn't really protecting the 'precious cargo' it is suppose to hold. Yet, despite me being completely open to Tim, I could care less.

"I could find something I bet, maybe some suits I have from that nice asari place I went to—"

"No, I think I can do much better for you." This comment catches me off guard as I find myself following him up the stairs and into his room. Before we leave, the lights turn off again systematically and I savour the splendour of the pattern before following Tim to his room. Inside, he throws me one of his shirts. "This will due for tonight, I think." It's a long button-down white shirt, similar to the ones he wears when bartending. I look at him curiously and point at it. He shrugs. "It's an idea."

I agree that "yes it is a nice idea" and start to throw off my soaking wet clothes. In a pile at the foot of the door rests my sopping garments and on my body now I wear the loose shirt. Tim, the gentleman that he is, asks if I have changed and I say yes. He turns and puts on a goofy grin when he sees me. "I look stupid, don't I?" I say, ready to unbutton the shirt so he can't have the pleasure of mocking me. I would rather be nude before him than have that happen.

But he shakes his head. "No, I just think you look good in it. Much better than I ever did."

Damn him and his charms, I'm blushing now. Now I'm seriously thinking about leaving, at least for my own sanity! I mean, we can't have young asaris blushing everywhere. The sky might get jealous of all the light blue going about! I mean, we can't have that can we? There is no logical reason that—He kisses me on my lips and I feel myself falling into the embrace.

We part after a moment is shared and, to my surprise, he still wears that stupid smile. "What is it now?" I ask, a smirk rising on my face that mirrors his own. I bet he's pleased with himself.

"I just think that, you know, with all the dangerous creatures outside and the fact that one did enter your room... well, it would be a lot safer if you spent the night with me." One of my brows rise mischievously and he immediately starts to wave his hands in front of himself. "Oh no, that's not what I meant. I mean, I'm only thinking of you here and your safety—"

"Ya, ya, I've heard it all before, hon." I smile as I lead him to the bed. "But just one night, okay? I don't want you to lose any space in your bed as it is."

"We can't have that, can we?" he jokes as he pulls back the sheets.

"Oh no, that would be an absolute travesty!"

As I start entering the bed and eventually pulling the covers over my body, I can't help but feel foolish. Here I am still fawning over some stupid human male. I should go. I should leave before anything becomes too serious. I mean, I'm an asari. I live hundreds of years longer than he ever will. Why am I getting attached to someone who is as frail as a twig? I'm supposed to be out clubbing and whoring like those other asari on Illium. I'm supposed to have fun, or at the very least scoff at those who do for being so ridiculous. But as I lay in Tim's bed, his arm wrapped around my body as he starts to snore softly into my ear, I cannot force myself to move or budge. Oh well, I suppose it will just be for tonight. Tomorrow I'll be in my own bed and there I can contemplate this horrid situation I have found myself in...

Oh, who am I even kidding anymore?


	20. A Broken Telephone - A Conversation (iv)

**A Broken Telephone – A Conversation (iv)**

_26th of January, Galactic Date: 2181_

[Inside the ruined Moonshine Café]

"I really need to stop falling for that damn rose trick. Are you okay, bartender?"

"I... I.. think I am... yes, I guess. Damn, the whole place is torn apart!"

"Be happy those explosives didn't have a fire base in them, human. Otherwise the whole damn place would be up in flames, not just in embers."

"Those guys... what were they..."

"I don't know. I have been tracking them down to kill their leader. During the hunt, there was talk of a code of some kind – really don't have a clue about what it was. The Council only employed me to take down the gang, nothing more. Now that the salarian told me that Dargén, the leader, is dead I have completed my mission. The codes would have been a nice addition to the damn quarry, though. Hopefully they are in here somewhere."

"You're a specter?"

"You're a bartender? You have fast reflexes for someone like yourself."

"I am now."

"Ah, I see. Well, whatever those damn codes are, they are gone now."

"I saw the salarian pick them up."

"Where did he go? I don't see him here."

"He started to run towards our side entrance but I think he was caught in the blast. I'm not sure; it was too bright to see."

"Damn, I hate loose ends. You sure you didn't see anything?"

"Perspective is a funny thing. Even though we may think we saw something, another may have seen it completely different. Idiots often think that our sight is infallible, but the intelligent think that by reading or hearing or even holding pieces of evidence, their perception of the events can become infallible. But I counter the claims of the intelligent; I follow the claims of the wise. That each tale has an impossibly large amount of infallibilities, that we cannot know everything in one moment in time. Like how I cannot judge the events of this fight by merely entering in from the back, or how I cannot judge whether the salarian is alive or not by seeing him encapsulated in a bright light. Perception is a tricky thing to play with."

"But it is vital to our survival. You speak well for a human, I would gladly wish to meet you again, friend. Now I must depart to wash my hands of this. Farewell, bartender."

"I demand you to stay here! You need to tell the authorities what happened! They will never believe me about—!"

"Remember what you said about perception, Simon."

"I've said all that needs to be said about that matter, Nihlus."

"Yes, you have, my friend. But let us not play around with falsehoods and pretend we do not see each other beyond the masks we hold so tightly to our faces. My only advice to you is this: check your inbox now and again, who knows who could have sent you a message?"


	21. A Broken Telephone - A Note (iv)

**A Broke Telephone – A Note (iv)**

_28th of January, Galactic Date: 2181_

To the holder of the Moonshine Café, Timothy Patrick Sanders,

In light of the events of January 26th, Galactic Date 2181, it is our duty to thank you for your efforts in helping our investigation. You have done a great service to your race and the people of Illium and we humbly thank you for what you have done for the Council.

It has been noted by our investigator that there was a considerable amount of collateral damage done to your facility. The Council is offering your one million credits to fix your place of work in whatever way you see fit. This gift of credits will be directly place in your bank and will be monitored to make sure you use it for building repairs. The rest of the money is yours after the repairs have been completed.

We thank you again for your services and wish all the best for you and your company.

Sincerely,

Councillor Tevos

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**A/N: This series has been incredibly exciting to write. Many of you enjoyed this twisting narrative into the realms of our 'infallible' perception. Hope you enjoyed the finale as much as you enjoyed the road to it. I think I've learned a lot from this experiment and I feel like I want to try something similar in the future. I also just want to take time to thank all of you who have reviewed, commented, followed, or favourited this collection. Though I do not reply to every review, know that every review is appreciate and make my day. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed "A Broken Telephone", there will be more Moonshine Cafe coming soon.**


	22. Ace in the Hole

**A/N: Over 100 reviews! Thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far, I'm glad these short stories are so well received. I hope you enjoy this one as well. This was crazy amounts of fun to write, but I was surprised at the emotional depth and reach this story had in the end. All in all, it meshed quite nicely together to form a very interesting story.**

* * *

**Ace in the Hole**

_August 3rd, Galactic Date: 2182_

He was a turian in a polished black suit and pointed shoes. His eyes were like hawks and his fingers drummed an old marching tune on his upper forearm. Crossed arms, however, did little to appease the bird's stagnant gaze. He reeked of death, possibly because he was the one who brought it.

If anyone had asked him the "what now" or the "who's who", he would have promptly replied, "Not anyone you would know, my lad. All great heroes have come and gone now, save for the rest of the old court guard."

If anyone had asked him about the badges that lined his propped collar or the metals that shined his breast he would have replied with: "Dignity before cowardice. Servitude in the face of the Hierarchy." He was an old crow at that, one who had tasted blood and missed it. Solid as an ox, built like jagged steel. And he loved to gamble.

Once they saw him betting his weight in credits on a two and a three. He came out with a straight. Once they saw him go all in on a pot of two old grease-lickers who had nothing better to do than collect money from old ladies who lived in the shining apartments above. Once, he caught someone bluffing and promptly bluffed him back. He was a devil at the cards and a master at the art. What art, you may ask? That changed from person to person. His answer would be simpler than most bright eyed philosophers. "The fight," he would reply. "The grand old fight."

He served the Turian Hierarchy for years. His last conflict was the First Contact War. "A silly name those human degenerates like to call it," he would say through a glass of brandy. "It's all about victory through means. It's all about the cost and profit. All those damn phrases they use to justify their valor. It's sad isn't it? A shame humans can never understand what true valor, or true justice, means. Will they ever? Time will tell. Damn, time will tell." In a few short turns from then, he'd win the pot at the local casino in downtown Illium.

Some asked him why he preferred the lower end of the clubs. "Better competition," he smirked cockily.

Though spouting war time philosophy while betting at Blackjack and Texas Hold 'Em wasn't his only pass times. He was an entrepreneur. One night, with the bleak smoke swirling around his head from fat humans and skinny asari, he told his secret. "They gave me a fortune," he said to this one pretty little number from Thessia. "Biggest palace this side of the cosmos. You know what I did with it? Tore it down. Spent the money on property. Not the high-end longue or military bunkers of Palaven. But real, dirt cheap properties. I built a damn casino in my name on Palaven. But I left all that." With one hand stroking her back and with the other flipping over his cards. "You could say..." Before the starry eyed asari, an incredible sight was had by all present. A perfect 21: blackjack, "...I had it in the cards."

But what property did he own? Now there's a slick tale if I ever did hear one. Most back-water streets of Illium had his name on them. He started big and then sold higher. Then he bought cheap and made it into masterpieces. Maybe it was his business strategy that worked the best. He'd give it to the owner and fork over thousands of credits to the guys or gals so he or she could spice the place up. A few years would go by, the place got attention. Then he'd come knocking on their door. They, obviously confused that their landlord came in person, asked if the rent money was acceptable. He'd respond, "Oh, it's fine, sure. But I think we need to lighten up the mood a bit." A deck would flash in his hands and his mandibles with twitch in delight. "How 'bout a game?"

It was so simple a tactic. He would bet the deed of the place. "The rules are simple. I win, I get this little joint. But if you win, it gets to go free." The whole device was so tantalizing for the poor, broken-backed impoverished of Illium. How could they ever refuse such a chance? I mean, it was just cards, right? Wrong. For you see, they weren't just any cards, they were _his_ cards. And that black eyed crow never lost a game. Never once did he lose.

But you don't want me to tell the tale of how he lost. No, that would be predictable and cheap. This story would be over in a jiffy and you lovely folks would just hate to see such a shame. So I'll make you a deal. I'll tell you the story of how he lost at his own game and you'll decide whether you like it or not? Deal? Deal.

So, where to begin this little bought around the block? I think it's best to start with that old turian marching through the doors. Bright eyed and bushy for us poor folk. You see, he liked the colour black. Not because it suited him, hell no, it actually washed him out. In fact, the reason why that turian loved the darker shades was because his victims used to screech out in terror before they died. Asari called him, _Avandia Navieshe, _or Frightful Shadow. Salarian's called him the Black Coat, or the Knife in the Dark. Humans? Well, we were the most creative. We called the poor bastard the Crow. And guess which one he liked best, eh?

Let me tell you how his entrance went down, ladies and gents. There was a great rush of wind. A great slither of lighting across the sky. Rain tormenting the massive panes. The Great Crow's cloak swaying in the hurricane that beseeched the great glass prism. To put it mildly, that was what it was like when that ol' bird crossed into the Moonshine Cafe.

But our fearless hero, the true valor in this yarn, was not as busy with the calamity outside. Instead, our suave gentleman, the mysterious button downed musketeer, was standing in a circular wooden counter. He was cleaning glasses for his patrons.

Allow me to pause this scene for the listener may hasten to imagine such a thing without a little back story. For that great building had a lot of history, lots of stories told in those walls and lots of stories yet to be told. It's the building you stand in now and it's a place of great artists and con-men. Look around and imagine this little joint broken and barred. In the corners, charred edges, with embers searing the curtains below. Broken windows and shattered dreams, that was the sight of this place a few months before the Crow's arrival. Our gentleman in satin took it up from this hell and made it what you see today. Only, our gambling turian friend didn't see it in that light.

"Busy Tim?" he asked with a grin, that same gesture he wooed the asari in the dark with.

Our bartender looked to that turian and gave his only little smirk. "Not really," he replied as cool as the rain outside. "You see, the last customer just went out. I'm getting ready to close up shop."

"A shame," countered the turian as he loosened his jacket and sat down at the counter, "I was looking forward to the best beer in the galaxy."

"Flattery will get you nowhere," parried the human.

"Fine then, I'll be a bit more humble for you. Best in Illium," jabbed the turian.

Tim chuckled and set down the glass he was previously cleaning. "That's a bit more like it."

The two tangoed with eyes. Wordless in their observation, each wanted something from the other, but what? Dear audience, I think you know exactly what one of them wanted from the other. "So human, how goes the business?" asked the turian once his beer had been delivered. "I heard you fixed the place up."

"It's been going well; I'm starting to get more patrons with a fresh coat of paint."

"But paint isn't everything, my dear bartender."

Tim shook his head. "No, it isn't. But it sure as hell brings in the outsiders."

"What makes them stay then?"

Our bartender thought for a moment. Considered the best possible answer and replied, "The stories."

"How quaint," smiled the turian as he took another sloughed of his drink. "But really, I think I'm not here for a story, but instead to make one."

"Oh?" wondered Tim aloud, he had not received many a patron such as he. "Then, what do you have in mind, landlord?"

The formalities broken by Tim's sly observation, the Crow decided to shed his mask. "You know very well what I want, Tim. You haven't paid up in a few weeks."

"I will get you the money by the end of the week—"

"That's what you said last week, human. It is now May 3rd by your calendar. Do you expect me to believe you are still in debt after the generous gift by the Council?"

"Debt is a strong word," defended Tim as he turned his head away. "I prefer savings. I wish to keep the money for a rain day. Besides, the money I pay for the rent has always been from the bar's earnings, not my own. I want to continue this tradition as long as I can."

Our turian gambler saw a worthy investment, yet his greed and keen eye also saw an easy target. _I'll give him a month_, the sly bird thought. _Then we shall see if I decided to splash the pot_. "Business been slow?" Weaved the ex-turian soldier. He knew the answer like the calibrations of an oily gun, he just wanted confirmation.

"It's been moving well. It's always hard to get back on your feet though after a long absence-"

"Absence is a soft word for it," interrupted the turian mockingly. Now he was seeing the extent of the human's bluff and, for the most part, he was impressed. Anger seemed to be an easily contained element. _It makes him as dangerous as he is fun_, sized up the landlord.

Tim, starting to see into the bird's ploy, began to question. "What is going on here? What do you want Cyranus?"

Now our human friend has revealed our turian landlord's name. Cyranus Ganduck, a lauded turian soldier who was decorated for countless metals and badges. Served in the First Division for the Hierarchy and was a proud fighter. That is, until his injury during the First Contact War. A shot straight through his kneecap. Though it was said to be minor and the ample supply of medi-gel could have saved his leg, the old crow only wanted revenge. When the war ended earlier than expected however, all his drive was lost. As was his leg and his military career.

Each part only shows a piece of the puzzle. What the overall picture looks like is far more exciting than any individual piece. So where was I? Ah yes, thank you my fair maiden! The sly bird and his crafty tricks!

"My purpose? Well, why don't you ask the empty drink?" The glass clinked on the wooden table. The turian, all boozed up, now started to saunter over towards the newly finished glass double doors. "I'll be back in a month. What is that date? June 3rd, 2181 to you humans? I don't expect payment there, but do expect an offer."

Crossing into the cold rain, the turian considered why he did not strike the bargain then. _Maybe to heighten the stakes_, thought the bird with a grin. _After all, I haven't lost a game. Maybe I should give the human some heads up before I actually strike._ "Who am I kidding?" He spoke aloud in the street. "The Crow never loses his sight on his target!"

So here we are, a cocky turian and a gentlemanly bartender. Each set on their paths that will obviously collide. I could tell you how the turian practiced in the casinos and never lost and I could tell you how the bartender went on with his days without a care in the world. But that's no fun, is it? Stories are told on the cusp of excitement and energy. Lose that kinetic possibility and the story flows into soup, great goop that can't be salvaged. For the sake of the story and for the sake of living in the excitement on the present, I shall refrain from telling such boring interim. But, for those of you who are curious, know this: with one thing and another, time passed and the two players met at the cafe again.

This time, the duel would be set in sunshine. Illium is a tropical world and as such the heat can be quite unbearable in certain cycles. This one in particular rose some attention. A few people fainted in the streets, steam rolled across cooled windows and suited men fluttered their hands to quench their incessant thirst. Cyranus was not one of these poor fools. He again wore his full black jacket and pants, with his crisp badges proudly over his breast. Heat, nor hell, could stop this bird. Today was a day to gamble and by Jove, he would make a show of it!

Down the concrete roads rode Cyranus. His feet were pattering across the hardened ground. A few people walked beside; some noticing his stature and others barely caring, it was hot after all. _Let them gawk or walk_, he thought to himself. _I have no need for petty pawns. I have only need for credits._

Credits upon credits. Each individual was a weight on the scale for this bird. Every bartender, every owner whom he'd had the pleasure of lending his land was worth the value of his property. And this human named Tim was no different. Though his price was higher than most, he still was just a man in a fancy bar. _With a crazy amount of luck, _chuckled the bird darkly. _I mean, how lucky was that guy just to happen upon a Specter trying to take out gang? Sure, his bar got beat up, but the money_. Cyranus was tempted on actually whistling. _That money was golden._

Before long, he was in front of those glass doors. The sign, entitled _The Moonshine Cafe, _presented proudly above the doors. A quick breath and a card flip for good luck. He produced an ace. _There is no way I can lose_.

Inside now the velvet carpet was soft on his boots. At the counter as always, was the illustrious bartender. To the bird's surprise, he even spotted a few patrons scattered about the bar. Though it was early in the bar's hours, there were still people here catching a drink. _This place is pure profit_. A grin flashed on the turian's face when he saw Tim acknowledge him and squirm slightly. _Spirits, how I love a place that makes credits._ Calm and cool, the turian approached. A deck in one hand and his pocket filled by the other, Cyranus approached the wary bartender.

"It's been a month," stated the turian bluntly and loudly, catching the eye of a few asari in the lower area. "Do you have my credits?"

Expecting a reply of "No" in return, the turian was definitely caught off guard when Tim chiefly brought up a large datapad with an electronic check on it. "I'm assuming you are fine with this method of payment?" Stunned, the turian took a step back. _So he actually collected all the credits he owed_, observed the bird admirably. _I must hand it to him, not many human's are that... driven... _But memories of the First Contact War and his disgrace on the battlefield crossed his mind like a hot incendiary rounds. _No, they are all the same_.

"This was what we agreed, was it not?" questioned the human again, his smile all the more evident. It was mocking him, it had to be. There was no reason for that smile to exist if the human did not know that he had already won. _I will not lose, not today, not ever, and especially not to a damn human!_

Fire in his eyes and bile in his throat, the turian spoke. "Well, that is quite impressive, bartender. I give you that."

The human could see the hesitation, could deduce the halting sentences. There was something amiss. The turian was, for all storytelling purposes, an open book to Tim. "I am sensing a famous 'but'," interjected the human lightheartedly, yet it was for naught. Cyrnaus was too stuck in his ways to care.

"Yes, you see my dear fellow," the turian sat down at the counter as he spoke, "I've been hearing some rumors that this place is coming up. That it's starting to become one of the hot spots on Illium."

Tim shook his head. "Now what did I say about—"

"You'd be damned if you missed the opportunity to hold all the cards," interrupted the turian with a grin. His eyes, as was his pocket, were hungry. His pockets wanted the deed by his eyes wanted to win. His eyes wanted to watch and crush the human little an insect. Beyond the battlefields of old, new ones were being waged. And they were waged on a few small credits in bars. It's a new age, but war adapts, it never truly leaves the blood.

"What are you trying to offer me?" shortly presented the human as he filled up another glass of beer for the turian landlord.

"I'm offering you a chance to own this place properly."His deck slammed on the counter as he started to methodically shuffle with his hands on the wood. "It's simple. We bet the deed to this joint. You win, you keep the place. If I win, I get the land." The speed at which the cards mixed and the elegance of the hands showed his superiority, yet they also enticed many a man. _No one has declined the cards, I'm pretty sure it's impossible to do that now._

Tim was no different to that claim. "You want to deal here? Or at a table?" The turian considered it and then spied the few patrons who now were fully invested in the conversation.

"Why don't we allow our audience to look at the game we are about to play." The onlookers turned away, obviously ashamed that they were being called out. However, despite their embarrassment, their ears remained perked.

There was a slight pause, the only sound to pierce the air was the inhalation or breath or the quick exhale of stress. The cards also made a sound: it was of wind cracking in the air. Finally, as if to break the silence, Tim spoke. "I accept your offer. Deal first." His towel was removed from his shoulder and placed gently on the polished wood before him. The turian smirked at the gesture. It's like a warm up before a fight, only that this fight isn't a physical one, but a psychological one.

The light of Illium broke through the windows and refracted when it reached the small table that houses that game. Both members sat down with expectant audience members careening over towards the game. No one wanted to be the first to move and yet no one wanted to miss a single bit of the action. Heat was high and sweat crossed every damp forehead. The game was about to begin and everyone was nervous, even the old Crow.

Two cards were passed out to each player, a simple game of Texas Up 'Em was the call and Tim did not hesitate in picking up the cards. _It seems he took the bait_, smirked the turian as he tossed a card away in the discard pile before flipping the first card on the table. _Now for the switch._ "The game will be won when one of us loses all the credits. I suggest we split the money you owe me by two. So, fifty thousand credits each will give us 25 thousand credits to bet. Sound fair?"

"Perfectly," stated Tim monotone, his gaze never leaving the cards in his hand. _The strong but silent type._ Cyranus chuckled. _I've broken better._

"Oh, almost forgot." The turian grinned even wider. "Screw blinds, never liked them anyway."

"Fine by me." _And easily swayed? This guy is definitely easy to bluff then_, surmised the turian with a nod of his head and a methodical twitch of his mandibles.

The first card displayed was a two of clubs. A simple card that really didn't do much for the turian. _I've got a four of hearts and a six of diamonds. Nothing but crap cards for me._ Tim waited for a while before signaling that he was betting two hundred credits on the hand. _A decent sized start? Not bad._ The turian, eager to jump in, called the amount quickly. _Maybe I can scare the poor bastard out._

But that was not to be the case as another card was flipped and a six of hearts was produced. _Bingo, now I have at least a two pair._ The turian, internally, was smiling and laughing but his exterior appearance was cold as ice.

A check by Tim and a raise by the Crow by a full three hundred credits. The bird, eying the competition steadily, wanted to see how far the human would go for his bait. _There are too many cards he could beat me with. He must know that and since there aren't any high cards out right now, there could be something sweet later on. Only a coward would reject me a call._ Tim did not disappoint as he called the turian's raise.

Another card was flipped over and it was revealed to be seven of spades. The possibilities soon started to rise for the Crow as he looked back and forth from the cards in his hand to the cards before him. _Maybe a straight or maybe a straight for this human before me, I have to be cautious here_. Tim checked and, in reply, so did the turian.

The next two cards were a seven of hearts and a three of diamonds. Both times the cards were flopped, both players check casually. Finally, the card that would seal their fate was played and it proved to be a two of clubs._Damn, I wanted that straight_, internally growled the turian as he calmly spied his cards. _A double six, not really something I can bet well with, so I think I'll check if this human does_. And check Tim did which lead to the reveal. By now, the wandering eyes became lingering ones as both players flipped over their hand. First was the turian whose smug expression grew as Tim's sunk at the sight of a double six pair. Yet the smug glare was short lived as the illusive straight was played before the Crow. In Tim's hand were a five of diamonds and an ace of clubs. _Dammit!_

Tim picked up the cards and started to shuffle and deal once more. The turian, watching how the cards flipped and spun in the bartender's slender fingers, was only concerned with dissecting the human's psychology. _He must have bluffed just before he flipped his cards, he wanted to see how I work with confidence_. But the Crow knew that he was not the only one to reveal a secret at that draw. _His eyes. They twitched slightly and looked down when he looked malicious about my cards_. _That's his giveaway_. With a chuckle the bird took the cards in his hand, a king of spades and a ten of diamonds. _This is a hand I will win._

And win the hand Cyranus did. It was a decent pot, not as big as the last, yet a decisive victory nevertheless. _I am starting to crack him. It's only a matter of time now before he completely breaks!_ This process of breaking the human continued for the next three rounds. Each time the bird won key hands against the human: a triple pair of nines, a pair of kings, and a high ace, each victory got him closer to his prize of The Moonshine Cafe. Every hand that was played, an audience started to grow around the table, their eyes wide with excitement.

A few more hands and although Tim had won a few more hands, the turian, Cyranus still held the largest amount of credits. The cards were played, drawn and the initial credits thrown into the pot by means of the typing on the holographic datapad. Each bid two hundred credits. The first card flipped to reveal a queen of hearts.

"Your heart is as protected as that queen, is it not?" The human gazed up from his cards, his gaze as emotionless as his face. _Common, you at least have to twitch at a line like that_, internally deduced the turian. In his hand were a jack of spades and a six of clubs. "Was it a human bitch that did it?" No reaction. "So, not a lover eh?" Tim rapped his knuckle against the table twice: a check. The turian mirrored the action. "Well, how about a fighter then?" The card that was flipped was a jack of diamonds. Tim's eye twitched slightly. The turian smiled. "So, I see you've seen war then. What division were you in the war?"

"Which one?" asked the human, monotone, as he added in fifty credits as a raise. "Human history, like your own, has been plagued with war before—"

"But not in recent years, sadly," replied the turian swiftly with the increase of the raise by fifty more credits.

"War will come like the tide." Another fifty credits to the raise. "There is no use waiting for it—"

"But what if I enjoy the water across my scales?" The bid was raised again, this time to a solid two hundred credits.

Tim looked from the turian to his own hand before complying with the amount given and typing on the datapad his bet of two hundred credits. "I would be cautious if I were you, sometimes the tide brings in a tsunami."

The next card flipped was a five of spades. _Curses, I'm getting further and further away from my straight!_ "Then again, why do I have to wait for the battlefield when I can create it?" A smirk. "But enough, where did you fight? I fought for my species on planets far from here. I tasted human blood, salarian blood, asari blood, and even my own kind's blood. What can you say about yourself?"

The human chuckled lightly as his fist knocked twice again. "I've tasted krogan blood in the dark alleyways of places where there is never night." This caused the turian to raise his brow, both by the move and by the human's words. "I have crawled through sewer tunnels and the slimy pits of hell. Don't talk to me of glory, bird. I have not seen such a thing in my entire life."

"Check." A flip of a card: a king of clubs. "Is that why you bartend, human? To fix the mistakes of others while constantly running away?"

"Is that why you gamble, turian? To hide the shame of the only lost battle in the whole damn war?" A growl slipped from the turians lips as the repeated knocking emanated from the hard wood table. "I see I hit a nerve."

_Damn human, how the hell did he know I lost a battle?_ The turian looked to his cards, a grimace hidden by wide spread. _He must have heard by the human vids. They probably have my bloody face all over their damn news stations. His eyelids pressed tight together. How I hate their race! They mock me, mock my honour, mock my species. I will not stand for it! Not while these amateur idiots watch me play this game. I will not lose to a human!_His eyes opened slowly to his cards in his hand. _I could throw in a high bid here, I could try and get him out, or... _The voice in his head conceived a devious idea._ Or you could go all in. You have more cards after all and even if you lose you have a chance to finish this right now._ _But... but I could lose_, he reasoned. _Lost or win, you still could get him out of this hand! This is a significant bet, don't lose it!_

"All in," stated the turian as he placed his cards face down on the table, a wide grin on his face. He typed on the data pad an equal portion of credits to the human before him and then slid the datapad across the table. "So, are you willing to prove yourself in battle, human?"

There was an uneasy pause. The game had only been going for forty five minutes, quite a short time for this hefty a bid to be placed. Everyone who was in the bar, whether they were watching previously or not, was not interested in the game. Such a maneuver was gutsy, bold, and downright ambition. Tim had struck a nerve alright, one that caused the turian to lose all foresight.

"I accept." With the swift placement of his fingers on the datapad, Tim had thrown in his entire amount of credits. At that moment, the turian only had three thousand six hundred credits left in his pot.

_Idiot, he can't possibly win against a triple jack. Even if he does, I can come back easily. These cards are in my favour!_ The turian nodded and gave a soft smile. "I see you took the bait. Now will your leap lead you astray? Or will its bold maneuver succeed in securing victory?"

With the swift flick of his scaly wrist, Cyranus threw down the next card. A jack of spades. The turian started to chuckle softly, his shoulders slowly becoming more rapid in their movements. The bartender found this action curious, but the turian did not. "You've lost bartender. Not a single card in this damn deck can save you now!" With that the turian flipped over his cards to produce his trip jacks. Pushing himself from the table, the turian started to unbutton his coat. "I might as well stay here in _my_ bar now. I'll take a drink, no, maybe two, or three or four, or five!" His arms flew up as he looked to the patrons in delight. "How about drinks for all! On the house!"

"Not so fast," one of the patrons replied. She was a small, fragile asari with a light purple hue and tribal markings strewn accross her face. The turian found her comment curious, but not as curious as to where her gaze was directed. Following her line of sight, he soon saw in horror Tim's hand. It was a straight. An ace and ten of diamonds was in his hand and with the cards in front he had created a royal straight: a 'broadway', which beat his triple jacks.

Slowly sinking back into his chair with a shaking arm, the turian was aghast at the sight. "How... how the... Spirits... how...?"

"Luck, my friend," uttered the human under his breath as he collected his victory on the datapad. "It seems this game is not over though. You still have three thousand six hundred credits left." With the smooth lowering of the holographic machine to the table, the bartender's other hand swept up all the cards in a pile so he could shuffle the next hand. A few chuckles and grins came from the crowd, to which the turian immediately silenced with a yell. _How dare they laugh at me? How dare they mock me like those medics when I was returned from the battle? How dare they sneer like my comrades did when I received word that the war was over just before it had begun? How! Dare! They! _But the turian calmed himself quickly under the smoldering gaze of the patrons around him. _No matter, this game can yet be won._

And for a moment, that sentiment held true. The next three hands were all won by the turian, who lapped up the credits like a dehydrated dog to water. However, this thirst was not quenched till Tim would fall to his knees. The turian did not demand just victory, for he also demanded the human's blood. Pride and anger, fear and embarrassment swirled around the bird's cranium. The Crow held his sight. His mark was on a new target. Yet, when his mark had fallen on a target on the battlefield, it never had been under such emotional strain. As his generals had said when he was only a young hatchling, 'Emotion and war do not mix. Leave your grievances to the side when engaging in conflict.' It seemed the turian, the famous Crow, broke that rule of engagement when he first sat down at the table.

The next round he lost. Then again. Then again. Then, in the heat of anger he bet two thousand credits. He lost every single one. Watching the cards fall to the table against that solid oak was boiled his blood, but seeing the human take all those credits for himself scorched his heart and his pride. "_I will not lose_," he kept uttering under his breath. "_I will not lose, I will not lose, I will not lose, I will not lose, I will not—_"

He lost. Again. To a three pair of jacks.

It was his turn to deal now as the card slide over to him. The turian only had five hundred credits left. Five hundred credits to his pride. It was worthless as mud. It was worthless as the Illium whores that lined the street. It was worthless as... as his family, disgraced in the turian unification wars. His grandfathers, their names all slandered for their faction being lost to the books of history. His family were murders, thieves of the night. Genocide was their trait and mercy was nonexistent to their war crimes. It took years, generations before a member of his family could even utter their name in public. Years of working under the fist of the Hierarchy. Years of paying off thousands upon thousands of credits of debt to Palaven. Years of watching his father work himself to the bone and finally, to his grave. The dirt was home to a member of the Nimines Colony. Dirt spit from an officer from a more distinguished colony.

_But they were all cowards. They all joined Palaven when the war was in its final hours. They betrayed my family's colony so they could save their skin. They save themselves, for what? A few measly credits. Petty credits that I'm losing to a human right now..._ His eyes started to gloss over as he shuffled the deck, his hands as heavy as lead and his eyes as hot as the jungles of Illium.

_And I would've been the first in my family to reach great military heights! Spirits, they would've inducted me for valor and bravery! My name would be on countless ships and banners streaming from the Hierarchy! By where am I now? Betting my life away in some damn cafe. I'm a miserable old fool, lost in the ways of his fathers. No family to call my own anymore_. In his agony, a card slipped into his lap. With a wary eye, he glanced towards it and found it was an ace of hearts. _Maybe_, he thought slowly. _Maybe it's high time I started making my own luck_. With his swift, military-bred hands, he dealt the cards, making sure to drop one and chiefly switch it with the ace in his lap. No one noticed the maneuver and the human was too busy looking at his cards to care. Hell, everyone was staring at Tim at that moment! You would've been a fool not to!

With the satisfying thud of the cards slamming against the table, the first card on top of the deck was placed aside and the first card to be placed on the table was an ace of spades. With an emotionless expression, the turian drew up his hand to his face. The infamous ace of hearts was there in his hand, but it was also greeted by a queen of diamonds. _Perfect_, thought the turian happily. _I cannot lose._

The round went silently. With mostly checks passed around the table. A ten of spades joined the ace, followed by a five of diamonds and a queen of spades. This only pleased the turian more as he realized he had a two pair in his hand. _And not just any two pair, but an ace and a queen two pair. _A soft smirk emerged on his face. _This human's a fool, why was I ever concerned?_

It was Tim who started the bidding with a hundred credits added to the pot after the initial fifty credits each at the beginning. The turian, with a wry smile, matched the hundred as the fourth card was placed on the table. A two of hearts. _A pathetic card, useless and weak. It has no purpose to me. _That round two checks were passed before the final card turned on the table. To the turian's surprise, before him was his salvation. An ace of clubs. He had won the hand.

"I'll check," stated Tim with sigh as he placed his hand to the table. The turian, however, decided to pounce. _I'll win, there's no way I can't!_

"All in."

A gasp from the crowd as the turian started to input the amount into the datapad.

"Are you serious?" asked Tim calmly, his arms crossed before him. "This will basically—"

"No, it won't," the turian rebutted with a grin. Tim, the human, but more distinctly, the bartender, nodded and typed in an equal amount to the turian. He was matching the raise.

Now all that remained was the final draw. Deep in the turian's eyes laid great solace, great pride that he would emerge victorious in his prize. His cards flipped, revealing the full house for all to see. Gasps spurt from the mouths of simple folk who lacked faith and a small betting operation around the table started to bring in more bets on who would emerge the victor in this battle of wits. _Let them gawk_, grinned the turian. _Let them immerse themselves in my glory! I will give my family's name true pride when they think of me. I will be called a legend, a hero, a..._

"Sorry Cyranus, I win with my straight."

"What!?" screamed the Crow as he stood to full height and examined the scene before him. Sure enough, the hand that was dealt against him was a royal flush: an ace of spades, a king of spades, a queen of spades, a jack of spades, and a ten of spades. Tim had completed the ultimate hand and had beaten him with a swift bluff. _He wanted me to go all in; he knew that I would because of my honour. He used me! He bloody used..._ Then Cryanus' mind wandered back, back to the battle which stole all his honour away.

In the midst of burning wreckage and hissing shards of metal, the Crow stood atop his perch, his sniper poised and set to kill. His mark had been set, his gun raised high to pick anyone who dared to draw his head out of cover. They said in the academy days of old that he could pick a target's head off on his first shot, with a non-calibrated rifle. That was a lie, a fabricated rouse to gain glory in a place where glory was not found. In the end Cyranus cheated on those tests, creating a highly adaptable program that could pick the target's head off clean each time. Imprinted in his palm, all he would have to do was touch any part of the rifle's length and the sensor would automatically pick up his neural demand to hit the target's head. His greatest trick was using this same system on non-calibrated rifles and firing a shot that would always hit its mark. He was never caught.

Battles would go similarly. He was a good shot; there was no denying it, but the added advantage of the targeting system made his aim impeccable. But on that battlefield within the foreign human colony, his aim would do him no good. For a small child, barely the height of his knee, was tangled in wires and surrounded by concrete. The Crow, upon seeing this, scoffed at the young child. It was its fault that it had been ensnared by the trap. For that, it would a mercy to kill it. Yet he could never set his sights upon the child, never fire and watch its brains explode across the rock. Maybe it was his memories of war and the terror he first felt that cause mercy to cross his mind. Not a mercy to kill, but a mercy to spare.

At the same time however, it was that hesitation that cause a powerful burst of tech energy to scatter his systems and damage his gun. Flashing around at the human opponent, he only had a second to gasp before the powerful burst of a riflle ripped through his leg and shattered the shoulder bone of his arm. Falling from his perch, the Crow spiralled down into the hard concrete below, smashing his back and spinning until all he could taste was blood in his mouth and all he could see was a blue hue streaking his vision. Hesitation was for the weak. Humans did not know such a concept. They did not devise such morals. They only killed and damned those who tried to fight against them.

The turian's clenched hands smashed against the table, his mouth practically foaming as his mandibles twitched at a sporadic pace. Cheers were being sent up around the human. Asari, salarians, even a damn turian congratulated him on his victory. But no one was near Cyranus, no one dared respond with an apology or a "better luck next time". They all knew his luck had run out and that his loss would again mark another decade of shame.

He waited for someone to mock him. To rub the dirt in his face like they had when he had been damaged in battle. He waited for that moment of glory for the human, that smug expression his generals danced around his cot. Yet, there was no fowl incantation. No desire to rub it in. Instead a hand was softly placed on his shoulder and smooth words caressed his ear. "You played a damn good game, Cyranus. I wish I could have opponents like you would play with such vigor." Vigor. Wish. Damn. Good. These words seemed odd to be placed in such a fashion. The turian turned his eyes from the table with a confused expression, to which Tim only chuckled.

"I'm not here to attack you, Cyranus. I'm here to be a good sport."

"That expression... is..."

"Foreign, I know," replied chiefly the human with a grin. "It's what we humans used on Earth after every damn game. Some sort of code of honour if you will. You always congratulate the opponent for a good game. Humility is worth more than pride."

If any other person, human or otherwise, had said that to him before he would have slapped them in the face and spat on them. He would've lashed and said that life was all about taking your opponent and making him bleed. But now... but now the turian was shocked by these words. He found truth in them and for a moment, he knew that perhaps, just maybe, the human was right.

With a swift moment, the human started to turn his back to the turian. Holding his arms wide like an overabundant actor, he spoke to the crowded patrons who started to stare at the broken bird. "My friends, it seems as though my turian friend promised you drinks on the house if he won. I agree to this sentiment. Drinks for all!" A cheer of 'here here!' sounded around the room as the patrons started dashing towards the bartender's circular counter.

The departure of the patrons left the turian and the human momentarily alone, a concept that confused Cyranus deeply. "Why are you doing this?" he softly wondered, thinking he was the only one who could hear his own voice.

He was wrong. "I do not act like my species." This caught the eye of the turian who saw the grinning bartender with chestnut hair staring down at him. "I am not without pride, but I follow honour before such ridiculous pleasures are allowed. For some reason, it seems my species has done you wrong. If there is any comfort, know that I do apologize for their ignorance. After all," his grin widened tenfold, "we are new to this galaxy after all."

Taking only two steps before being pulled back, the bartender gave a quizzical look at the turian who sat the table, his gaze still lost yet his words oddly found. "I just have one more question for you bartender."

The worried expression turned to a smile as if by magic. "And that is?"

_I don't know why he's change me so,_ wondered the turian to himself. _How could I let this human twist my morals and twist my ideals? How could I let him drown my hate in logic? Maybe I allow it because I'm tired of all the politics, tired of all the running, tired of being alone at night without a whore beside me, tired of always gambling my life away. Well, no more._ "Would you like to go another round of the cards with me?" Cyranus' smile mirrored the humans as his gaze rose up to match Tim's.

With a chuckle and a pat on the turian's pat, the bartender nodded. "Only if you wouldn't mind losing again!"

Shaking his head, the turian released his grip on the human's hand and started to shuffle the cards. "No promises, Tim. No promises."

And so, with the swift movement of the cards and even swifter words our glorious bartender turned the toxic soul of our beloved landlord into something stronger, more supportive. Not only did he save a soul, but he also released another. This bar, the one you stand in right now, is free territory for all who come and admire it. The events that transpired on June 3rd, 2181 have allowed all free souls to enter without hesitation. For that, let us congratulate our infamous bartender: the amazing and talent Tim!

Oh look, he blushes! All the more for cheers to be sounded! But, for those damsels who still worry his daring acts are all but lost with this tale, fear not. For all gentlemen who aspire to be similar to his valor, fear no more. For this is but one story of the impeccable Tim, the man with the magic tongue and a man who has seen death and spat in its face! Ladies and gentlemen, let us raise a glass to another victorious story and many more to come!

Now, who wants around round and a story?


	23. To Vocalize Serenity

**A/N: It has been far too long since I wrote a story for this collection. Though I have desperately wanted to finish the 'An Eye for an Eye' Arc, I found that this story snuck up on me and asked to be written. I obliged and here we are. Thanks to all those who are still here after such a long wait and a special thanks to Osage for her constant support in my writing and my editor who I would be lost without.**

* * *

**To Vocalize Serenity**

_September 1__st__, Galactic Date: 2182_

He loved her. That's all there was to it. He loved the singer.

But he was only a boy.

That was what the distant Levitos said to him: "You can stare all love sick if you want, but she's never going to sing to you."

Sometimes, he wouldn't even be looking at the gal and the salarians would approach him, grinning like fools. "He's thinking about her again, isn't he?" one would say.

"Impossible," would reply another, "he hasn't got his hand down his pants."

They would laugh, tease, and then move on. It was always a sign of slow business when they started to pick on Feniro, though the targeting wasn't because he was an outsider. No, instead it was because he was the youngest.

If you go down deep enough into Illium you can find all kinds of joints that will sell you whatever you want. Want some poker? "Go see Cyranus," is what they'll say. Want some cigarettes? The Jaltani are the people who get the best. But if you want a good time, no strings attached, you see the Levitos. Levito was a name you went to if you wanted a singer; someone who could turn the air into their own to make it, and you sometimes, sing the praise of life. But sometimes, just for the lucky customers, you'll get a bit more.

The business was run by fasting talking Jeni-Tai Levito: a bugged eyed salarian who knew his routes around Illium and knew what each back alley had in store. The fish had built himself an empire around singers in a shop called the 'Aquarim' where the rich and the poor could go in for a show. Funny to think it all started because he needed an excuse to explain why his mate was an asari broad.

Unfortunately, he died of a lung infection. Humorous way to go considering his occupation, I know, but you have to understand that the mistress, Lady Levito, took the death hard. No heirs to the throne, no sons or daughters to pass down the legacy. So the business was left to the cousins, the second cousins, and those so far removed that they had only a hundredth of his blood. But they all gained the fortune but no one really knew what to do with it.

Lady Levito, old and frail in age and talent, decided to adopt a son who would be the perfect candidate to pass on the legacy of her dear, dead salarian mate. And so Feniro, a young drell male, was taken into the family to be the next in line. Lady Levito took this as a victory, the smug satisfied faces of those who were leaves on the furthest branch of the family tree were now withering with shock and despair. It was as if they could see the fortune burning before their eyes. Lady Levito relished it.

Fate, however, had a different plan.

For you see, it was 'by coincidence' that the little lady found herself unable to continue on in life after a meal of eels and a seemingly peaceful slumber. And so, Feniro was placed in the care of his cousins and uncles, who started to divide the family fortune like rats on a fresh carcass. In a few weeks the once great Levito empire was no more and the spoils of the plunder were lost by those who had never experienced lavish living.

Thus Feniro entered the care of the salarian Taxen Levito, a slimy male who squirmed under the firm eye of the law. Taxen was a smuggler and his business involved the darker aspects of Illium. He, instead of plundering credits or furniture from Jeni, took the singers into his care. Feniro? He was a nice addition to an already sweet deal. Destined to be the prodigal's son, he was now only a pawn in the game of wealth and success.

Now the runt, Feniro spent his days under the shadow of Taxen's sons who were each entertained by the 'singers' in their father's care and by the underground business of Illium's worst pastimes. However, the drell boy cared little for those frivolities. Instead he spent his days doing as his surrogate father told him to by thinking about one asari singer, her name being Noyia.

His run-ins with the female were strained at best as she often asked what he wanted from her after the fourth sentence he said. "Nothing," he would reply. "Well, I would be lying if I left it at that," he began again, shy and timid. "I guess all I want to do is talk."

"Talk?" she responded, confused. Her pessimistic expression did not change.

"I suppose," he said, his gaze to the floor. "I mean, that's what people do, right?"

She could not say.

"Regardless, knowing about one another is good, is it not?"

She had no opinion in that regard either. "A person is a person," she explained to him.

"Oh, I see." They left the conversation at that, Feniro not really understanding what she had meant by her statement. In fact, this first conversation was a blight upon Feniro's standing in the Hierarchy of the family. Thinking that a simple approach to a beautiful asari was a common action for members of society, he was shocked at the ridicule he received from Taxen's other sons.

"So, he's finally set eyes on a singer, eh?" The lead grinned maliciously. "Which one?"

"Probably the fat one," smirked another. The son who spoke was quite large for a salarian – not fat by any means, but not that attractive either. His vile tongue was an offset of this.

"Or maybe the youngest, he may like them inexperienced," insinuated a third, the eldest of the trio. The very fact that he, the eldest of the party, was not the sole leader of the family had always bothered him. It amused Feniro, though.

"Well?" barked the youngest, the lead, again. "Which one?"

He told them. They laughed. They laughed and they smirked and they pushed him around. To this day they laughed and teased, surprised and thoughtful about how Noyia, Lady Levito's favourite, would be the singer of his desires. To them, the irony was far too great to pass up on a few jokes – "a few" being quite an understatement.

So it was with great reluctance that Feniro joined Taxen and his three sons on a bar crawl with the lovely Noyia tagging along. Feniro tried thinking of something better to do, for he honestly could not have conceived the enjoyment of dragging the asari along only to tease her and mock her for her occupation. He was roped in though, knowing full well that Taxen's sons would find some way to use their leverage to drag him with them.

He still wondered this peculiar relationship the four of them shared when they reached the doors of the Moonshine Café. To Taxen it was just another human-centric pub that disguised itself under the multi-ethnic acceptance that the bold colours suggested. To the three sons, it was a way to spend their youth in a haze. But to Feniro it beckoned his birthright; his sanction that was set down from his fearful mother and by his despised father. This luxurious setting brought those hopes and dreams that had been placed on his back to the forefront. And he hated the feeling.

Taxen scoured the front of the bar, his gaze calculating whether the vibrant (and seemingly expensive) hole was worth his time. The decision was, ultimately, made up by Feniro who simply commented on how the place appeared to be high-end. "A bright, crimson velvet carpet and spacious interior to match it. Looks impressive." Impressive was all that Taxen needed to hear; the whole of Illium would soon hear of the black marketer's triumphs. Why not start with this tiny establishment?

Before the patrons of the bar stood a proud salarian with his three sons, the adopted drell Feniro, and the asari Noyia who was leashed like a dog. Some would call the display extravagant, glorious and honourable in show but Feniro thought it was overly indulgent. The patrons seemed to agree with his sentiment. Each turned their heads after the party had arrived, simply more interested in their own conversations than the beginning of another.

Taxen was furious at the response: no man or woman running up to him, basking in his glory? This was unacceptable and, though he considered for a moment letting the creatures squirm beneath his feet, he realized the task before him. This bar would be occupied by him and him alone.

Turning to the bartender, he motioned for the human to come over. The bartender did not. He was instead content to stand behind his circular counter, serving a few drinks to the patrons there but the human's eyes were glued directly on the newcomer. Taxen realized that he had his attention, whether it was full or not. "This bar is only for the best, yes?" he probed, his eyes turning to thin slits in calculative consideration.

The bartender shrugged. "I say it is for all willing to come and relax—"

"But do you not consider your customers fit for acquisition here?"

Again the bartender had little in way of a response. "This place is free to everyone."

The comment caused the salarian to grin. "I question, good human, because I am a very special guest. I do not wish to have these mongering idiots around me." His gaze fell on the patrons present. He had their attention at 'idiots'. "Remove them from this vicinity."

Feniro could see the strain in the bartender's eyes. There was great anger towards the display that Taxen had created, but the human held a passive stance, not willing to directly become offensive against the salairan's comments. Feniro admired the preservation of peace. "I cannot do that," replied the bartender smoothly, his hand running through his hair as he spoke. "I'm sorry, but this is simple against my—"

He stopped cold when Taxen produced a small pistol from his coat. Most people fainted when they saw Taxen with his malicious expression and gun held tight in his hand, however the bartender simply stared. He made no further comment, he just stared. That was a first for Feniro.

"How does this sound for reasoning?" asked Taxen with a hint of wit. "Or do I need to give further examples?" The gun started a slow crawl from its original direction pointed at the bartender to the other patrons in the bar. Most who had the sight sink over them cringed and hide themselves from the merciless glare of the one-eyed barrel.

At last, after what seemed like an eternity of Feniro anxiously hoping the salarian would not go through with his promise, the bartender spoke. "Everyone get out." It seemed no one needed any further encouragement. The bartender's tone was firm, joyless, and laced with anger. His glare continued to meet the salarian's, his hand still stuck midway through his hair. As if he expected some to retort, the human bartender added a final remark to his order. "All drinks are free tonight, don't worry about payment." Now no one felt obligated to be in that small place. Credits were often placed in front of lives, but lives mattered more than a few worthless numbers for a drink.

The exit of the patrons was swift and chaotic with Taxen heartily laughing as all bundled out through the double doors, pushing and shoving each other to safety. "Self-preservation. Remind you of anything, human?" The salarian smiled as he holstered his gun back under his coat. "I grow tired of all this philosophy," waved the salarian with faux fatigue. "Fetch me a drink."

The bartender didn't move. Taxen found this curious at first, then he asked again and received the same response. He found that humorous. Then, for the third time, he commanded and the human did not budge from his spot. Now Taxen found this insulting. "Hey, bartender?" yelled the youngest son with gritted teeth. "You stupid?"

"Tim."

"What?" replied the eldest.

"My name is Tim, not 'bartender'," he stated, monotone.

The middle son was about to throw his hat into the ring, but was denied this by Taxen's response. "I don't care what I call you. Fetch me a drink, human." Tim did and motioned for the group to sit at a large table. Taxen shook his head to the suggestion, instead taking a smaller table that would not fit anyone. Feniro found this curious and upsetting but surmised that this action said everything about the salarian.

With only six chairs, the young Noyia was forced to stand alone, the leash still firmly secured around her neck. Ignored and shunned, the four salarians started to babble and argue with one another, arguing about how fast which patrons had run and which they would have killed if they could.

Feniro took no part in this. The youngest noticed this.

"Hey, drell," spat the son as Feniro turned his head around. "Show some respect, we are talking here. Engage us."

He tried. But, as these things often went, Feniro became bored and repulsed by the sick display before him, though he would never say so. The drell had learned complacency: to follow those older than you or in your care. His surrogate mother, Lady Levito, had drilled that into him at a young age. Even though he saw through the ploy now, Feniro couldn't shake its overwhelming presence. It had become a bad habit; the habit of a parent's fear.

Tim came around with the drinks, a cold beer for Taxen and some non-alcoholic ale for the three sons. Feniro did not receive anything, though the drell was thankful for it. If he wanted something he would have asked for it. Being grouped with his family was not something he enjoyed and he was surprised that the bartender had picked up on it.

However, so did Taxen. "Hey, what about my charming orphan, Feniro? Doesn't he get something to drink, human?"

Tim looked to the drell. Feniro looked to the human. Silent conversation commenced. "I don't think he wants anything," replied Tim coolly as his gaze returned to Taxen.

"Spirits, I want alcohol!" pouted the eldest, turning a nasty snare on the bartender.

"Couldn't have said it better myself," affirmed the youngest, his arms crossed in front of his chest.

The middle son was not able to speak for Taxen interrupted them. "Now human, you will give this drell a drink or so help me—"

"You will get _us_ some alcohol while you're at it too!" finally piped up the middle son, who was promptly shut up by the father.

"Will you be quiet?!" The outburst was loud and unstable. The young drell slouched into his chair, trying to compress himself inward to escape the situation before him. Feniro had seen a lot of rage in his life, but nothing compared to Taxen with a beer in his hand. "Now," started the salarian again once his sons had been silenced. "Give the drell a drink."

Tim complied this time, but his reaction to the command was slow and deliberate. His line of sight drifted over Feniro for a moment, calculating what the drell might desire, but his eyes lingered on the asari at the end of the table. The human's demeanor softened right there, pity oozing from his expression.

The conversation quickly picked up again, mostly to do with how Taxen had driven every single person in the bar out. The son's lauded their father, mostly for repentance after the scolding they had received from their rash comments.

Tim quickly returned, in his hand a mug with a hot tea. "Asari herbal tea," he explained to the drell softly, trying to keep his voice unheard from the rambunctious salarians at the table, "it is said to sooth the soul."

Feniro had not heard such a thing and commented to the human about it.

Tim laughed. "You don't work in cafes or bars, my friend. I don't expect you to know." The human's eyes eased their concrete shell once more as he lifted himself from his hunched position over the drell. His eyes darted towards the asari quickly, indicating that Feniro look to her. The drell did and surmised that the asari beside him was panting and choking from the noose around her neck.

It was then that Feniro realized what the human had meant.

Secretly leaning back in his seat, he tucked the cup into his lap after taking a quick sip that warmed and soothed his throat and then promptly slid the cup by the asari's feet. She looked to the drell for a moment, studying him for any sign or purpose other than his intended action. Feniro tried his best to look sincere but he realized that no one had ever taught him how to, so he simply smiled instead. He found that a good alternative as she lowered herself into a sitting position to sip the tea, hidden from Taxen's surveying.

Outside, a low rumble growled through the air. A dark and dank weight in the air set over the individuals in the bar and Feniro found the fans starting to turn inside the bar. It was interesting that the bar had fans, but the fireplace in the back had also indicated a lack of automatic heating systems. He appreciated that.

Feniro's action had not been observed by his family, yet his stare had been. Instantly, the cunning Taxen saw the adoration and curiosity in the drell's eye. He had heard it from his sons, of course, but it was just a rumour as he had never witnessed the emotion from his adopted son before. It interested him and frightened him all the same; anything that Taxen could not control was a liability. The salarian would not have that.

"Noyia!" he called. The asari looked up from the edge of the table, trying to hide her mouth which was still consuming the maternal liquid. "Sing for us."

She could not refuse, Feniro knew that off by heart. Those who dared to deny Taxen's wishes often found themselves bleeding in a gutter. Feniro had witnessed that first hand. So it was no surprise that the asari slowly left the tea behind and stepped on top of the table they all shared. Her clothing, which was the standard attire for all singers under Taxen, was short and tight: slick white tights covered by a fraction of what could be called a skirt. The rest of her upper body was scantily covered in the same thin film of cloth. Her arms were left bare, exposing the light blue hue to the bar's crimson exterior.

Fire and ice.

Feniro had never seen Noyia sing, in fact the concept was foreign to the drell. The business of Lady Levito was, surprisingly, a shame; the withered salarian hid Feniro from all the sins and crimes she had to commit to survive. Her final acts were only a reclamation of all the dirt her husband had done behind her back.

Noyia looked shy, coy in front of Feniro. Whether it was due to his kindness before or whether it was due to her fear in front of an unpredictable force, he was uncertain. However, what could be noted was that she had no trouble with Tim, who watched from his counter, eyeing the situation carefully.

Her hips moved first, swaying back and forth rhythmically to some hidden beat that Feniro did not hear. But it was there. Taxen bobbed his head to it and the boys lolled their tongues to the skip but Feniro didn't hear it, he was too concerned with the display before him. Next her wrists started to turn and twist which caused her chest to extend forward, the tight lines of her attire stretching along the curves of her sides.

While this was occurring, Feniro could not help but think: _This is not singing, this is dancing._ Dancing to some unknown beat so she could be gawked at by lonely salarian males. They say salarians had no sex drive, that reproduction was only for the survival of their species. Whoever came up with that theory was clearly human and had not spent a lot of time with those slimy fish.

The youngest saw the expression of concern plastered on Fenior's face and, with mischief as his goal, he started to stroke the asari's lower calf. Fenior would not have commented if the asari had not responded to it, but Noyia had now crouched onto her knees with her legs spread wide as her back arched, her chest pushed up towards the sky. The salarian son's hand had raised as well, perfectly cupping the soft tissue around her… With the fondling came a charged cry. The sound turned all heads, even the bartender's. Feniro had had enough.

"Get your hands off of her!" the drell shouted, surprising even himself at how vapid he felt.

"Excuse me, drell?" mocked the salarian. "You think you control me?" His hand followed the arch of her back, sliding up until he reached the middle and tightened his grip on her muscles. A squeal escaped her lips as she drew forward from the sharp pain. The rope around her neck tightened with the jolt of the eldest son's hand. She choked and gagged, falling to her back on the table. Writhing. She was writhing.

It was then Feniro found his power, took a stand that he had meant to do for a long time. Taxen's eyes widened with shock at the movement before him, the quick twist of the drell's fist into his youngest son's chest caused him the most alarm yet he could not move.

Now the other two sons were shocked at this display, their brother on the ground clasping his chest in pain. Bloodshot and violent the great lizard stood, his teeth gritted into a sharp line. "I'll kill you for this." He spat on the floor. And, in an instant, the world exploded.

Feniro dodged a punch, catching himself tripping on his chair and rolled over to his side so he could stand up again. The eldest had lost his rope, opting now to chase after the greater threat. Feniro had never fought, his only knowledge was from the videos he had seen on the extranet. He assumed quick strikes of precision was the way to take down the lugs, but he did not anticipate the power behind each strike against him. He dodged two, one over his head and the other to his left. Then, all of a sudden, he misread the salarian's attack. Three strikes were made against Feniro's. One to his cheek, one to the abdomen, and the other right above the chest cavity. He buckled, grabbing the points of contact with his left hand while swinging futilely around with his right. In his panicked onslaught, another punch passed through the drell's defenses. A fist collided with the back of Feniro's head.

Feniro moved forward, falling onto his chest and then rolling to his right to escape the foot of the middle son, who was trying to crush his head. Feniro wanted to rise to his feet, however the location in which he decided to bring himself up was poor. The middle salarian easily kicked him in the chest, causing him to roll over onto to his back clenching his face in agony.

Two mighty hands brought him up, each gripping the fabric of his shirt. By those same hands he was thrown back into a circular table behind him, flipping it so when he landed the top of the table was supporting his back. Dazed, he shook his head and fluttered his eyes as a fist collided against his cheek, sending him onto the floor to his left. Blood splattered across the carpet from his mouth. His world was spinning.

Feniro did not know how many times he was hit. He knew he dodged a few of the punches at first, but near the middle and end and eldest salarian's were just wailing on him. The drell caught a glance towards Noyia, who was frozen with shock at the sight. The youngest son was still rubbing his cheek with a horribly malicious expression twisting his features. So much hate, so much neglect buried in those eyes. Feniro knew that all that rage would be his undoing by the end. By the sixth punch, his eyes were lolling back into his head and he felt sweat - or was it blood - running down his face. An eye spotted Taxen, unable to conceptualize what was happening. The salarian had always had control over his sons, had all of Illium's black market trades in his hands. Now he had nothing. His family had cut their strings and all the puppeteer could do was gawk at the sight.

There was a point at which Feniro knew he was going to die. He had been thrown against the stairs leading to a lower section of the bar and his back screamed in anguish from the pain. The drell could barely lift himself before being pushed back down again, the middle son standing before him. Vengeance for the neglect he felt gleamed in his eyes.

That was when Tim entered into the fray.

No one expected it, especially not Taxen's sons who were the first to be removed by several swift punches. The first to fall was the eldest, his bulky body slow and late in reaction towards Tim's. Three punches to the chest and one soft blow to the head knocked the salarian back into the table and then onto the floor: unconscious.

The next to fall was the middle, yet he took longer to take down. He scored a few hits on Tim, who seemed to take the punches well for his size and stature. To bring the nimble but vicious salarian down, Tim ducked one of the wild punches to sneak his foot behind the salarian's calf, pulling his foot towards him and tripping the salarian. He was dazed by another punch to the face.

By then Feniro has risen to his feet, wavering beside the stoic bartender. He felt weak, his knees buckling under his weight. Feniro was sure he would fall again but the strong hands of the human held him up. Shaking himself and thanking the human for support, he lifted his head to find Taxen with the pistol in his hand, his eyes blazing with fear and anger. Behind him stood his youngest son: he was coaxing his father.

"Shoot them!" was what he declared, his eyes burning with passion and rage. "Did you not see what they did to your sons? Shoot them!" It all became clear to Feniro in that moment about who had actually been in control of the family, who had kept the drell away from his share of the spoils. It always came back to the youngest son, the one who would inherit the money, fame, and business from his father. That's what this dance was all about: who would take control of Taxen's empire. Feniro had only been dragged in as the last remaining bits of Taxen's sanity faded, to try to keep his sons from any more power than he had already given them.

But that plan had failed again.

"You don't have to do anything your son says, Taxen," replied Tim coolly as he held his hands in a defensive stance. Feniro just looked idly on, eyeing the groaning salarians who were on the floor.

"Don't listen to the human! He's new to this galaxy, knows nothing about the galaxy around us! He's trying to take your empire away!" coaxed the youngest again, his eyes fixed on the left of Tim's chest. It was if he believed his gaze could penetrate and burst the heart of the bartender.

"Stop this!" yelled Tim, taking a step forward only to have the gun shake quickly towards him. Tim could see that he was loosing the battle, that much was clear. But the question still lied in who would fall first? The reaction of each person would determine the outcome of this fight and Feniro did not consider himself stable enough for such a brawl.

"Shut up!" retorted Taxen as he stood, his gun shaking with rage. "I am not controlled by anyone! I will protect my legacy! No whore or half-baked bartender or bastard's son will ever deny me my protectorate!" His eyes betrayed his confused state and in that Tim saw his victory.

The world moved slowly in that moment, for Feniro was sure that Tim would be shot. However, it was neither Taxen nor Tim who reacted first. Instead the lowly singer was the first to make a move, launching herself in a collision course towards Taxen's gun. Her foot and the pistol collided and caused the weapon to fly across the room.

In that instant Tim jumped, launching himself on Taxen to try and restrain the mentally collapsing salarian. Feniro, lost in the chaos of the scene, found himself gazing at the youngest salarian who was desperately trying to control his little world that had spiraled out of control. He saw the gun, just as the salarian had. The race was on.

Running towards him, Feniro punched the youngest in the chest trying to catch him off balance so he could be restrained. The tactic failed as the salarian only centered himself to launch a few more punches against the drell. Being weakened, Feniro could not dodge most of the hits and so found himself thrown against a nearby table and crying out in anguish.

The youngest salarian was being shouted at now. His father was being beaten by the overpowering bartender while his son stood, dazed at the whole scene around him. Feniro took this chance to assault the salarian again, this time weaving his way around him to try and restrain him from the back. This could have worked if Feniro had grappled the salarian's arms and pulled them around, but it was not to be. Instead, the salarian grabbed the lunging arm of Feniro and flung him over his shoulder once the drell was behind him.

Feniro landed with a dull crack of his back to the carpeted wood.

Turning around on the hard ground, Feniro found himself face to face with the youngest salarian, his eyes coarse with torment as he pointed the gun at his father who was now restrained by the bartender. Taxen was, for the first time Feniro could remember, truly afraid.

"S-?" he began, but the young salarian did not respond in the way Taxen had hoped.

"Put him down, bartender," growled the youngest salarian whose aim was straight and true. He held the gun like he had used such weapons thousands of times before. "I will not falter when I shoot."

"I do not deny that," replied Tim coolly. "However, what does your father think of this?"

"My father does not matter, human," was the quick retort.

Tim was taken aback. "You do not care about your father's safety?" He was stalling for time, trying to get the young salarian to think about what was occurring around him. Or maybe it was all directed towards Feniro, who was now lost in the chaos. Again he had been forgotten, left behind by all that was occurring. Tim however, had been the only one to truly see the drell, to look upon him as an equal and as a being that existed. And now it seemed like he was trying to get him to help defuse the situation.

"My father?" mocked the salarian as he paced with the pistol gripped tightly in his hand. "My father was a coward and a criminal. Only his career was short lived and pathetic." A thin smile worked its way onto the son's face as he saw his father squirm in horror at his son's true allegiances. The prodigal son had ascended onto his rightful throne and with it came the fall of Taxen's empire. "Now I have no more use for him and neither do you."

The shot shocked all, but none more than Tim who shouted in anguish as his body was sprayed with the thin yellow filament of salarian blood. Taxen's eyes lolled, his heart beat in a pathetic attempt to retain order and his brain rested upon the human in a paste. He fell to his knees and then to the floor. Taxen did not breathe again.

The bartender's eyes flashed to the salarian son, his teeth gritted in rage. "You pathetic, backstabbing—"

"Please, human. Such words do not become us." The pistol's lowered sights rose from the deceased to the living. Tim was his next target. "The police will find your corpse, gun in hand, with my fathers. I think that it will suffice as an explanation for the events that have transpired."

"You won't get away with this—"

"How cliché, human. I expected something more for your last words." The salarian smiled as his finger's muscles started to contract. A shot sounded, yet it did not hit anything organic. Instead it hit the roof of the building.

The salarian son, shocked that his arm was now held high, looked before him at Feniro, the drell who he had neglected. Taking his destiny and his existence back into his own hands, the drell threw the salarian back, the pistol clattering across the floor.

"You… wait… you…" spluttered the salarian, shocked that he had missed such a crucial piece to the events around him.

"You did not count on this, did you, S-?" The drell's cool voice and his calm demeanor frightened the salarian: this was not the same child he had grown up with. No, this was a being that had taken control of his life. The salarian son finally felt fear as he could not turn this situation to his favour.

Or could he?

Quickly, without a second thought, the son turned underneath the drell's foot and he leapt for the pistol. His movements were too quick for the drell and before Feniro knew it, the pistol's end was now on him.

"Tides have turned again. Right, drell?" Feniro could not move, his chest heaving under the fear of death. His sudden freedom had been taken from him in one swift motion, now only death awaited him.

Turning his head towards the bartender in one last lament, he noticed the human's gaze was not on the situation, but towards the entrance of the bar. This Feniro found curious, not as curious as the bartender's next action. It was directed at him but the action was small and insignificant. Tim jolted his head backwards, almost as if he was falling back. Falling back… or falling in that direction, for that matter. Then, all at once, it clicked.

Feniro jumped to the side, Taxen's son fired his pistol, and the bullet screamed into the drell's arm but he was still alive. Falling hard on the ground, the drell cried out in agony yet it was not only he who cried out for from the double doors of the bar came salvation. Illium's law enforcement charged into the bar, their guns directed towards where the shot had emanated from: the young salarian.

Feniro lost track of time at that point, his body was weak and his eyes started to glaze over from the shock. His head was soon lifted and rested on the lap of a young asari singer whose eyes were soft as the clouds above. Feniro could not believe what occurred, shouts and cries were being sounded yet no bullets pierced the air. In that space, peace was returning. Feniro felt only the burn of his arm and the warmth of the asari's gaze.

Tim came to his aid after what seemed like weeks. "Are you okay?" he asked with graceful ease. Sweat had beaded around the edges of his face but it did not seem to faze him. "It has been a few minutes."

_Has it?_ wondered the drell as he laid in the singer's arms, his body feeling light and airy. "Taxen…" he muttered softly. "His sons…"

"Do not worry, they have been taken into custody. You are safe, my friend. You are free." _Free_. The word was odd to the drell, yet foretold so much in its simplicity. Feniro's life was his.

Tim left him again, promising that medical aid would come quickly but Feniro did not care, his freedom was all that mattered to him now. Around him, the world quickened and the scene became hectic as the officials of Illium demanded to know what was going on. Through all of it Feniro kept a level head and was blissfully at ease despite his arm.

The singer above him only looked down at the person who had stood up to her. His and her eyes met for a moment. They shared true happiness and security in each others' stares: all was right with the world. "Feniro, may I call you that?" she questioned softly, her voice like an angel's. He nodded that it was alright. "What do you need?" _Need_. It was another word that he did not expect to come from the asari's lips.

He thought for a moment, not interested in anything but her. "I want you to sing," he said.

She looked slightly hurt, but nevertheless nodded in agreement. Her hips started to sway and her chest started to protrude but Feniro merely shook his head at the display. Her face seemed even more distraught. It was not his intent.

"I don't want you to dance. I want you to sing." _Innocence_. That was perhaps what she saw in his eyes, the innocence of one who simply wanted to exist in the world. Maybe that was what drew her to him, the undeniable ease of his mind. But whatever the reason for her attraction, his request was fulfilled. Her voiced filled the space around them, filling him with love.

Feniro would go on to live from that day, his arm never working properly again after the bullet wound. Though he would forget parts of the experience, he would always remember the asari's song. It wasn't sad or sorrowful, it was happy and light, the promise of life and freedom hinged on her every syllable. He was entranced by her song, not her dance that had wooed so many before her. She was entranced by his simple desire to only exist and love her for who she was.

And that was enough for both of them.


End file.
